lid 


John  Swett 


r,    •  .'-.  .  ? 


' 


»-v 

f 


TEN    BOYS; 


WHO    LIVED   ON 


THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO 

TO   NOW 


JANE   ANDREWS 

AUTHOR    OF    "  SEVEN    LITTLE    SISTERS,"    "  GEOGRAPHICAL 
PLAYS    OF    UNITED    STATUS,"    ETC. 


BOSTON,  U.S.A.: 

GINN    &    COMPANY,    PUBLISHERS. 
1893. 


Copyright,  1883. 
BY  LEE  AND  SHEPARD. 

All  Rights  Reserved 

THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO. 


Co  f 
WILLIAM   WARE    ALLEN. 


541671 


PREFACE. 

IN  preparing-  this  little  book  my  purpose  has 
been  threefold, 

First,  To  show  my  boy  readers  that  the  boys 
of  long  ago  are  not  to  be  looked  upon  as  stran- 
gers, but  were  just  as  much  boys  as  them- 
selves. » 

Second,  In  this  age  of  self-complacency,  to 
exhibit,  for  their  contemplation  and  imitation, 
some  of  those  manly  virtues  that  stern  neces- 
sity bred  in  her  children. 

Third,  To  awaken  by  my  simple  stories  an  in- 
terest in  the  lives  and  deeds  of  our  ancestors, 
that  shall  stimulate  the  young  reader  to  a  study 
of  those  peoples  from  whom  he  has  descended, 
and  to  whom  he  owes  a  debt  of  gratitude  for 
the  inheritance  they  have  handed  down  to  him. 

As  it  has  been  my  intention  to  trace  our  own 
race  from  its  Aryan  source  to  its  present  type, 


PREFACE. 

I  have  not  turned  aside  to  consider  other  races, 
perhaps  not  less  interesting,  with  the  single  ex- 
ception of  the  incidental  introduction  of  the 
Hebrews  in  connection  with  the  Persians. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  for  me  to  make  a  list  of 
all  the  authorities  I  have  consulted  in  preparing 
this  little  book ;  but  I  wish  to  say  that  without 
the  assistance  of  the  valuable  work  by  Eugene 
Viollet  Le  Due  on  the  "  Habitations  of  Man  in 
all  Ages,"  I  could  not  have  written  the  Aryan 

chapter. 

JANE  ANDREWS. 

NEWBURYPORT,  Sept.  29,  1885. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

INTRODUCTORY.    THE  ROAD  TO  LONG  AGO  .  5 

I.  KABLU,  THE  ARYAN  BOY,  WHO  CAME  DOWN  TO 

THE  PLAINS  OF  THE  INDUS 10 

II.  DARIUS,  THE  PERSIAN  BOY,  WHO  KNEW  ABOUT 

ZOROASTER 2** 

III.  CLEON,  THE   GREEK  BOY,  WHO    RAN   AT  THE 

OLYMPIC   GAMES 48 

IV.  HORATIUS,  THE   ROMAN    BOY,  WHOSE  ANCESTOR 

"KEPT  THE  BRIDGE  so  WELL" 81 

V.  WULF,  THE  SAXON  BOY,  WHO  HELPED  TO  MAKE 

ENGLAND 115 

VI.  GILBERT,  THE  PAGE,  WHO  WILL  ONE  DAY  BE- 
COME A  KNIGHT 136 

VII.  ROGER,   THE    ENGLISH   LAD,  WHO   LONGED  TO 

SAIL  THE  SPANISH  MAIN 169 

VIII.  EZEKIEL  FULLER,  THE  PURITAN  BOY    ....  191 

IX.  JONATHAN  DAWSON,  THE  YANKEE  BOY    ...  207 

X.  FRANK  WILSON,  THE  BOY  OF  1885 229 


THE   ROAD   TO   LONG   AGO. 


Is  there  anything  pleasanter  than  going  back 
to  the  time  when  your  fathers  and  mothers 
were  children,  and  hearing  all  about  how  they 
Jived,  and  what  they  did,  and  what  stories  their 
fathers  and  mothers  used  to  tell  them  ? 

How  you  would  like  to  take  a  journey  to  the 
old  house  where  your  grandfather  lived  when 
he  was  a  boy,  and  spend  a  day  among  the  old 
rooms,  from  attic  to  cellar,  and  in  the  garden 
and  barn  and  yard,  and  through  the  streets  of 
the  town  (if  he  lived  in  a  town),  or  through  the 
woods  and  fields  of  the  country  (if  his  home 
was  there) ;  see  the  brook  where  he  used  to  fish, 
and  the  pond  where  he  used  to  skate,  or  swim, 
or  row  his  boat !  And  then,  when  you  had 
lived  his  childhood  all  over  with  him  for  a  few 

5 


ROAD    TO  LONG  AGO. 


days,  wouldn't  it  be  a  fine  thing  to  go  on  to 
your  great-grandfather's  old  home,  and  do  the 
same  thing  there,  and  then  to  your  great-great- 
grandfather's ? 

But  you  will  stop  me,  and  say,  "That  isn't 
possible.  The  house  isn't  standing  now  in 
which  my  great-great-grandfather  lived."  Per- 
haps  he  didn't  even  live  in  this  country ;  and  it 
is  possible  that  no  one  has  ever  told  you  where 
he  did  live,  and  you  could  n't  find  your  way  to 
his  old  home,  even  if  it  were  still  standing ;  and 
so  your  journey  back  to  long  ago  would  have  to 
end  just  where  it  was  growing  most  curious  and 
interesting. 

Now  I  have  been  making  a  journey  very  much 
like  this,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  about  it ;  or 
rather,  I  am  going  to  let  the  boys  I  met  on  the 
way  tell  you  about  it,  for  they  knew  more  than 
I  did,  and  indeed  I  got  all  my  information  from 
them. 

I  will  just  tell  you  first  where  the  road  lies, 
and  then  I  will  let  the  boys  speak  for  them- 
selves. In  this  year,  1885,  journeys  can  be  very 
quickly  made.  We  can  go  to  England  in  a  week, 


THE  ROAD    TO  LONG  AGO.  7 

and  to  Calcutta  in  thirty-five  days  or  less.  But 
as  my  journey  was  to  Long  Ago  as  well  as  to 
Far  Away,  it  was  not  quick,  but  slow,  and  I  shall 
have  to  give  you  a  strange  list  of  way  stations 
that  will  hardly  compare  with  that  of  any  rail- 
road in  the  world. 
Here  it  is:  — 

From  Now  to  the  old  Revolutionary  Days. 
From  the  Revolution  to  the  time  of  the  Puritans,  both  ir 
England  and  America. 

From  Puritans  to  the  Reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

From  Queen  Elizabeth  to  the  Age  of  Chivalry. 

From  the  Age  of  Chivalry  to  the  early  Saxons. 

From  Saxons  to  Romans. 

From  Romans  to  Greeks. 

From  Greeks  to  Persians. 

From  Persians  to  Hindus  and  Aryans. 

If  we  could  count  up  the  time  from  station  to 
station  along  our  way,  we  should  find  that  we 
had  needed  between  three  and  four  thousand 
years  to  make  our  journey  to  Long  Ago. 

We  have  stopped  at  ten  stations  on  the  way, 
and  at  each  one  there  lived  a  boy  with  a  story 
to  tell. 

There  was  Jonathan  Dawson,  the  Yankee 
boy,  who  told  us  about  New  England  ways  of 


8  THE  ROAD    TO  LONG  AGO. 

living  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  years  ago; 
and  Ezekiel  Fuller,  the  Puritan  lad,  who  had 
lived  through  persecutions  and  troubles  in  Eng- 
land, and  had  come  at  last  to  begin  a  new  life  in 
a  new  land ;  and  Roger,  who  longed  to  sail  the 
Spanish  main ;  and  Gilbert,  the  page,  who  would 
one  day  become  a  knight ;  and  Wulf,  who  came 
with  the  fierce  Saxon  bands  to  conquer  Britain ; 
and  little  Horatius,  whose  home  was  on  the 
Palatine  Hill  in  Rome ;  and  Cleon,  who  told  me 
wonderful  tales  of  the  Greek  games  and  the  old 
heroes ;  and  Darius,  whose  brother  was  in  the 
Persian  army,  and  who  had  seen  the  great  king 
Cyrus  with  his  own  eyes  ;  and,  last  of  all,  Kablu, 
who,  when  a  little  child,  came  down  with  a  great 
troop  of  his  people  from  the  high  mountain  land 
to  the  fertile  plain  of  Hindustan,  where  the 
great  river  Indus  waters  all  the  broad  valley, 
and  the  people  live  in  ease  and  happiness  be- 
cause the  sun-god  has  blessed  their  land. 

And  now  we  have  gone  back,  far  back,  and 
long,  long  ago,  until  we  can  no  longer  find  the 
path,  and  no  friendly  child  stands  at  the  road- 
side to  welcome  us  or  point  out  our  way. 


THE  ROAD    TO  LONG  AGO.  9 

We  have  gone  as  far  as  the  oldest  of  our 
great,  great  grandfathers  can  take  us  ;  and  it  is 
away  back  there,  in  the  land  of  Long  Ago,  that 
we  will  first  stop  to  listen  to  the  story  of  Kablu, 
the  Aryan  boy,  who  came  down  to  the  plains  of 
the  Indus. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  STORY  OF  KABLU,  THE  ARYAN   BOY   WHO 
CAME  DOWN  TO  THE  PLAINS  OF  THE  INDUS. 

"Man  is  he  who  thinks" 

ARE  you  ready  to  take  a  long  journey,  first 
across  the  Atlantic  to  Europe,  then  across 
Europe,  through  Italy,  and  Greece,  and  Turkey, 
past  the  Black  Sea,  and  into  Persia  ?  Look  at 
your  map  and  see  where  you  are  going,  for  this 
is  a  true  story,  and  you  will  like  to  know  where 
Kablu  really  lived.  We  have  passed  the  Per- 
sian boundary  and  are  in  Afghanistan,  and  now 
we  must  climb  the  steep  slopes  of  the  Hindoo 
10 


Here  lived  Kablu,  far  away  in  distance,  and  far  away  in  time, 
too." —  Page  1 1. 


THE  STORY  OF  KABLU.  II 

Koosh  mountains,  and  in  a  sheltered  nook  we 
shall  find  a  house.  It  is  built  of  logs  laid  one 
upon  another,  and  the  chinks  are  filled  with 
moss  and  clay.  It  leans  against  a  great  rock, 
which  forms,  as  you  see,  one  whole  side  of  the 
house.  The  roof  slopes  from  the  rock  down  to 
the  top  of  the  front  door  ( the  only  door  indeed), 
which  faces  the  sunrise. 

Here  lived  Kablu,  far  away  in  distance,  and 
far  away  in  time  too,  for  it  was  four  thousand 
years,  or  more,  ago. 

It  is  very  early  in  the  morning  :  you  can  still 
see  a  few  stars  shining  in  the  gray  light  of 
dawn.  Kablu  is  waked  by  his  father,  and  he 
knows  he  must  not  linger  a  moment,  for  the 
first  duty  of  an  Aryan  is  to  offer  a  prayer  to 
the  great  god  of  light  and  fire,  who  will  soon 
shed  warmth  and  beauty  over  the  whole  moun- 
tain land.  He  never  fails  to  rise  and  bless 
them,  and  certainly  the  least  they  can  do  is  to 
rise  to  receive  him  and  offer  thanks  to  him. 

So  in  the  soft  morning  light  you  can  see  the 
whole  family  standing  around  a  broad,  flat  stone, 
in  front  of  their  house,  on  which  are  laid  ready 
materials  for  a  fire. 


12        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO   TO  NOW. 

Kablu's  two  sisters  stand  beside  their  father  ; 
he  rubs  dry  sticks  rapidly  together,  and,  just  as 
the  sun  rises,  a  light  flame  springs  up.  The 
little  girls  and  their  mother  pour  upon  it  the 
juice  of  the  soma  plant,  and  it  burns  brighter 
and  brighter  ;  then  they  add  butter,  and  the  fire 
shines  with  a  clear  yellow  light,  while  the  father 
stands  with  the  morning  sunshine  on  his  face 
and  says, — 

"  O  Agni !  great  benefactor,  shine  upon  us 
to-day,  gladden  our  hearts  to  do  thy  will ! " 

This  is  Kablu's  church,  his  Sunday,  his  every- 
day, his  prayer,  his  Bible,  his  minister.  He  has 
no  other,  and,  if  his  father  should  die,  it  would 
be  his  right  and  duty  to  kindle  every  morning 
the  sacred  fire,  and  worship  before  the  great 
sun-god. 

And  now  the  sun  shines  upon  this  family 
while  they  eat  their  breakfast  of  cakes  made  from 
crushed  grain,  and  baked  in  the  ashes,  eaten 
with  curds  and  the  flesh  of  the  mountain  goat. 

Breakfast  over,  the  mother  combs  out  wool 
for  her  spinning  and  weaving,  for  the  father  has 
torn  his  tunic,  and  a  new  one  must  be  made. 


THE  STORY  OF  KABLU.  13 

The  little  girls  will  help  her,  but  Kablu  must  go 
with. his  father.  Can  you  guess  what  he  is  to 
do? 

Do  you  remember  that  butter  was  poured 
upon  the  sacred  fire  ?  Doesn't  that  tell  you 
that  there  were  cows  to  be  looked  after.  And 
where  did  the  mother  get  wool  for  spinning 
and  wearing.  Of  course  there  were  sheep  and 
goats.  And  didn't  they  have  cakes  for  break- 
fast ?  So  somebody  must  have  planted  grain 
on  the  slopes  of  those  high  mountains. 

Now  you  know  that  Kablu  is  a  farmer's  son, 
for  although  you  might  have  woollen  dresses 
without  keeping  sheep,  and  butter  and  cakes 
without  getting  them  from  your  own  cows  and 
your  own  fields  of  grain,  it  is  not  so  with  these 
Aryas  ;  they  must  do  for  themselves  all  that  is 
done. 

In  the  field  is  a  clumsy  wooden  plough,  not 
even  an  iron  point  to  it,  for  in  those  days  iron 
was  unknown. 

Then  what  did  they  do  for  knives  ? 

Oh,  they  had  copper  and  bronze.  Copper, 
you  know,  is  found  in  the  earth  all  ready  to  be 


14        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

cut  out  and  used  without  being  melted,  but  iron 
is  so  mixed  with  earth  that  it  must  be  melted  in 
a  very  hot  fire  to  separate  it,  and  although 
Kablu's  father  had  often  found  pieces  of  iron 
ore,  he  did  not  know  what  they  were,  and  had 
not  tried  to  do  anything  with  them. 

When  you  know  Kablu  well,  however,  you 
will  be  sure  that  he  will  try  some  day,  if  his 
father  does  not  before  him,  and  the  great  gift  of 
iron  will  become  known. 

See  what  they  are  going  to  do  to-day,  after 
the  cattle  have  been  cared  for  and  the  grain 
ground  between  heavy  stones  (they  have  a  mill, 
you  see,  even  if  it  is  a  poor  one).  Why,  the 
mother  comes  to  say  that  her  earthen  jars  are 
broken,  and  the  father  goes  with  Kablu  to  the 
clay-bed,  and  shows  the  boy  how  to  moisten  and 
mould  the  clay,  and  shape  jars,  and  cups,  and 
pots,  while  the  clay  is  soft  and  easily  worked. 

Before  night  they  have  shaped  ten  of  them, 
and  now  they  will  leave  them  to  dry,  and  in  a 
few  days  they  will  build  a  great  fire  in  which 
they  will  bake  them,  until  they  are  hard  and 
smooth,  and  capable  of  holding  water. 


THE  STORY  OF  KABLU.  1 5 

But  before  this  baking  day  comes  —  indeed, 
the  very  night  after  the  jars  are  made  —  some- 
thing important  happens  in  the  mountain  home 
of  these  Aryas. 

The  sun  set  among  great,  dark,  stormy-look 
ing  clouds ;  and  as  the  father  stood  before  the 
little  altar,  performing  the  sunset  service,  he  said, 
"  Oh,  Agni,  great  and  beneficent  spirit,  shine 
still  on  thy  children,  though  the  veil  of  cloud 
tries  to  shut  thee  away  from  us  !  " 

Then  they  all  went  into  the  house,  and  drew 
together  and  fastened  the  mats  that  hung  in  the 
doorway,  and,  stretching  themselves  on  their 
beds  of  sheep  and  goat  skins,  they  were  soon 
asleep. 

Do  you  know  what  a  storm  is  among  the 
mountains  ?  How  wild  it  is ;  how  the  thun- 
der echoes  among  the  peaks,  and  how  the  little 
streams  swell  into  torrents  and  rush  down  the 
steep  mountain-sides  ! 

Well,  they  had  not  slept  long  before  a  great 
storm  broke  upon  them.  Awakening,  they 
heard  the  thunder  and  they  saw  the  keen  flashes 
o£  lightning,  the  glances  of  Agni  piercing  the 


1 6        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

darkness,  and  then  they  heard  the  rush  of  the 
rain,  coming  down  like  a  mountain  torrent. 

Through  the  cracks  between  the  logs  of  the 
roof  it  poured  into  the  house.  The  little  Nema 
clung  to  her  mother  and  cried ;  a  blast  of  wind 
tore  the  mats  from  the  doorway,  and  now  they 
felt  the  force  of  the  storm  sweeping  in  upon 
them. 

"What  is  that,  father,"  cried  Kablu,  as 
through  the  darkness  he  listens  to  a  great, 
rushing,  rumbling  sound,  heavy  as  thunder,  but 
more  lasting,  and  coming  every  instant  nearer. 

The  father  listens  a  moment,  then  he  answers, 
"  It  is  the  swollen  brook,  and  it  tears  away 
stones  in  its  course  down  the  hill-side." 

But  he  had  hardly  spoken,  when  a  falling  ava- 
lanche struck  the  house  and  tore  away  one  side, 
leaving  the  rest  tottering. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  the  blessing  of  the 
morning  light  that  just  then  began  to  gleam 
faintly  in  the  east,  I  think  this  whole  family 
might  have  been  killed  by  the  logs  falling  upon 
them  in  the  darkness.  But  the  dawn  had  come, 
and  with  it  help. 


THE  STORY  OF  KABLU.  I? 

In  the  shelter  of  the  cattle-shed  they  find  a 
dry  spot  where  they  can  light  the  sacred  fire, 
and  then  the  father  goes  to  the  next  settlement 
to  see  if  his  brothers  have  escaped  the  perils  of 
the  storm,  and  if  they  will  come  and  help  him. 

It  would  be  bad  enough  for  you  or  me  to 
have  our  houses  torn  to  pieces  by  a  storm,  but 
you  know  very  well  that  there  is  timber  ready 
in  the  lumber-yard,  and  tools  in  the  carpenter's 
shop,  and  men  to  be  hired  for  money  who  know 
how  to  build  it  up  again.  But  with  Kablu's 
family,  how  different ! 

The  timber  is  still  in  the  form  of  living  trees 
in  the  forest,  and  there  is  no  axe  of  steel,  or 
even  of  iron,  with  which  to  cut  them  down. 

They  have  a  copper  or  bronze  tool,  aided,  per- 
haps, by  fire,  but  fire  can't  do  much  with  green, 
growing  wood. 

No  carpenters  to  be  hired  ?  Certainly  not ; 
but  the  brothers  will  come  and  work  for  the  one 
who  is  in  need,  knowing  well  that  like  help  will 
be  freely  given  to  them  in  time  of  trouble. 

And  while  his  father  is  gone,  our  little  boy 
sits  on  the  great  rock  against  which  the  house 


1 THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

was  built,  and  watches  the  sun  driving  the 
clouds  before  it  away  through  the  long  valleys, 
and  he  looks  down  upon  the  ruined  house,  and 
then  he  begins  to  think. 

It  was  only  yesterday  that  he  had  said  to 
his  father,  "  Tell  me,  father,  what  does  vian 
mean  ?  " 

And  his  father  had  answered,  "  Man  means 
one  who  thinks.  The  cows  and  the  sheep  and 
the  dogs  breathe  and  eat  and  sleep  and  wake  as 
we  do,  but  when  calamity  overtakes  them,  they 
have  no  new  way  to  meet  it ;  but  man,  the 
thinker,  can  bring  good  out  of  disaster,  wisdom 
out  of  misfortune,  because  he  can  think." 

So,  as  I  told  you,  Kablu  sat  on  the  great  rock 
and  began  to  think.  "  Wisdom  out  of  misfor- 
tune, what  does  it  mean  ?  Perhaps  a  new  way  to 
save  ourselves  from  the  like  misfortune  again." 
But  beyond  this  no  new  thought  came  to  the 
child,  and  saying  to  himself,  with  a  laugh,  "I'm 
not  a  man  yet,"  he  jumped  from  the  rock  and 
ran  down  to  the  clay-bed  to  see  if  all  the  new 
jars  had  been  broken  or  swept  away  by  the 
storm. 


THE  STORY  OF  KABLU.  19 

The  clay-bed  was  in  a  sheltered  place.  The 
jars  stood  safely  as  he  had  placed  them  yester- 
day. The  lowest  parts  of  the  clay-bed  were 
flooded,  but  the  higher  part  was  just  moist 
enough  for  working,  and  Kablu  began  to  pat 
smooth  cakes  of  it  and  shape  them  with  his 
hands. 

Then  he  wondered  whether  his  father  would 
bake  the  jars  to-morrow,  or  whether  they  must 
wait  until  the  new  house  was  finished ;  but  he 
answered  his  own  question  when  he  remem- 
bered that  after  last  night's  havoc  only  one  jar 
remained  for  his  mother  to  bring  water  in  at 
breakfast-time.  Yes,  the  baking  of  the  jars 
must  come  first ;  it  would  not  take  long  to 
prepare  the  fire,  and  he  himself  could  tend  it 
while  his  father  and  the  others  worked  on  the 
house. 

Now  Kablu  is  beginning  to  be  a  man  —  a 
thinker,  —  though  he  hardly  knows  it  himself  ; 
for,  as  he  pats  his  little  flat  cakes  of  clay,  the 
thought  comes  to  him,  "The  water  floods  the 
clay-bed,  it  doesn't  run  through  it,  and  our  jars, 
which  are  made  of  clav,  hold  water.  If  our 


20        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

roof  was  like  them,  we  should  never  be  troubled 
with  the  rain  again." 

"  But  how  could  we  make  and  bake  a  sheet  of 
clay  big  enough  for  a  roof?"  and,  as  he  thinks, 
he  flattens  out  his  cake  and  shapes  it  like  a 
square  tile. 

"  This  would  do  for  a  roof  to  a  play-house," 
he  says, -half  aloud,  "  I  will  slip  it  into  the  ashes 
to-morrow,  and  see  how  it  comes  out." 

So,  when  the  next  day's  fire  is  kindled  for  the 
ars,  Kablu's  tile  is  slipped  in  under  them,  and 
baked  until  it  is  dark  brown  and  almost  as  hard 
as  stone,  and  when  he  takes  it  out  he  carries  it 
to  his  father,  who  is  more  of  a  thinker  than  he 
is,  and  finishes  the  thought  for  him,  saying, 
"  My  boy,  we  will  make  many  of  these  little 
squares  of  clay,  and,  putting  them  together, 
cover  our  roof  and  keep  out  the  rain." 

So,  you  see,  Thought  has  brought  wisdom  out 
of  misfortune. 

But  you  will  want  to  hear  about  the  new 
house.  One  of  the  brothers,  as  they  worked 
slowly  and  laboriously  cutting  down  the  trees 
to  build  it,  said,  "It  would  be  easier  to  pile 


THE  STORY  OF  KABLU.  21 

up  stones  than  to  cut  down  these  trees,  and 
stones  would  not  be  so  easily  washed  away  by 
a  torrent ;  or,  if  a  few  did  go,  that  would  not  be 
so  bad  as  losing  the  whole  side  of  your  house." 

So  the  lower  part  of  the  house  was  built  of 
stone,  and  the  logs  laid  on  top,  and  when  it  was 
finished,  enough  tiles  had  been  made  to  cover 
the  roof ;  and  what  a  nice  house  it  was  ! 

Almost  a  pity,  you  will  think,  that  it  had  been 
built  so  well,  when  you  hear  what  happened  the 
next  year. 

It  was  a  year  of  great  trouble,  for  the  sun-god 
hid  his  face ;  great  snows  and  frosts  came,  and 
the  winter  was  so  long  and  the  summer  so  short 
that  the  flocks  could  find  no  pasture.  Kablu 
drove  the  sheep  from  one  hill-side  to  another, 
where  the  grass  always  used  to  be  fresh  and 
sweet,  but  everywhere  it  was  scanty  and  poor ; 
and  the  little  lambs  lay  down  and  died  by  the 
road-side,  and  the  boy  could  find  no  help  for 
them. 

Then  he  said  to  his  father,  "  What  shall  we 
do?"  and  the  father  answered,  "I  will  think." 

It  took  the  thought  of   many  men  to  learn 


22        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO   TO  NOW. 

how  to  bring  wisdom  out  of  this  misfortune; 
but  they  found  the  way  at  last ;  and  before  the 
time  for  the  autumn  rains,  down  the  long  slope 
of  the  Hindoo  Koosh  mountains,  troops  of  men, 
women,  and  children,  flocks  of  sheep,  and  herds 
of  cattle,  were  making  their  way,  slowly  but 
steadily,  to  the  plains  of  the  great  river  Indus. 

Some  had  said,  "Why  do  you  go  now,  when 
the  autumn  rains  are  just  coming  to  make  every- 
thing green  again  ?" 

But  the  wiser  answered,  "The  autumn  rains 
will  bring  relief  for  this  one  year.  How  do  we 
know  what  the  next  will  be  ?  Let  us  go  where 
the  great  river,  the  Indus,  will  supply  us  always 
with  water  ;  where  we,  who  are  ploughers,  tillers 
of  the  ground,  shall  have  soft,  level  fields  instead 
of  rough  mountain  sides,  and  where  we  and  our 
children  can  make  a  new  home." 

But  still  others  objected,  "Why  do  you  go 
down  into  the  country  of  the  wild  Dasyus,  your 
enemies,  men  like  beasts,  who  live  in  hollow 
trees  and  cannot  plough,  nor  spin,  nor  make 
houses  ;  who  have  no  cows  nor  sheep,  but  are 
like  savage  creatures,  speaking  only  by  wild 


THE  STORY  OF  KABLU.  23 

cries,  and  ready  to  tear  us  in  pieces  if  we  oppose 
them  ?  " 

But  again  the  wise  men  answered,  "  Our  God 
has  decreed  that  we  shall  conquer  the  Dasyus. 
Agni  will  give  their  land  to  the  Aryas,  and  the 
wild  Dasyus  shall  serve  them." 

So  Kablu,  the  Aryan  boy,  came  down  to  the 
plains  of  the  Indus. 

In  the  Aryan  language,  river  was  "Sindhu," 
and  by  this  name  the  Aryas  called  it,  and  by 
and  by  the  neighboring  people  called  them 
"Sindhus,"  or  "  Hindus,"  meaning  river  men. 
But  the  ancient  name,  Aryas,  was  cherished 
especially  among  the  old  people,  and  by  the  time 
our  little  Kablu  grew  to  be  a  man,  this  name 
had  grown  to  mean  noble,  or  belonging  to  the 
old  families. 

But  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  Kablu  as  a 
man.  When  he  came  down  from  the  mountains 
he  was  about  twelve  years  old,  only  he  didn't 
count  his  twelve  years  as  you  would.  If  you 
had  asked  him  his  age,  he  would  have  told  you 
that  one  hundred  moons  and  half  a  hundred 
more  had  measured  his  life  ;  for  the  very  word 


24        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

moon  means  the  measurer,  and  the  moon  was  to 
the  Aryas  in  place  of  almanacs  and  calendars, 
and  it  told  not  only  their  ages,  but  their  plant- 
ing times  and  harvests,  their  festivals  and  the 
times  of  other  important  events. 

When  they  could  say,  "  Two  thousand  moons 
ago  our  fathers  came  down  from  their  home 
among  the  mountains,"  it  happened  that  Kablu's 
great-great-grandson  was  sitting  by  the  river 
mourning  for  the  loss  of  his  little  playmate, 
Darius,  who  had  that  day  started  on  a  long  jour- 
ney with  his  father,  mother,  brothers  and  sisters, 
and  a  host  of  their  friends.  They  had  set  their 
faces  westward,  and  they  travelled  towards  the 
setting  sun  until  they  reached  the  land  we  now 
call  Persia  j  but  what  they  did  there,  and  how 
they  lived,  I  must  leave  you  to  learn  from  an- 
other Darius,  the  Persian  boy,  who  was  a  great- 
grandson  of  this  one  who  had  journeyed  away 
from  the  Indus  towards  the  setting  sun. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    STORY    OF    DARIUS,    THE    PERSIAN    BOY, 
WHO   KNEW    ABOUT   ZOROASTER. 

"  Truth,  Courage,  Obedience" 

You  know,  when  you  come  to  the  Z  copy  in 
your  writing-books,  there  is  nothing  to  write 
but  "  Zimmerman,"  and  "  Zoroaster." 

What  a  strange  word  Zoroaster  seems  to  you. 
If  one  of  my  boys  looks  up  from  his  book  to  ask 
me  what  it  means,  I  say,  "  Oh,  he  was  an  an- 
cient Persian,  and  he  wrote  the  Zendavesta. 
You  might  have  had  Zendavesta  for  your 

copy*" 

25 


26       THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

But  after  I  have  told  that,  neither  you  nor  I 
know  much  about  him,  do  we?  And  here  is 
this  boy,  Darius,  who  has  heard  of  Zoroaster  as 
often  as  you  have  heard  of  George  Washington, 
and  who  almost  every  day  during  his  boyhood 
learns  some  of  the  words  of  this  great  teacher. 

Before  I  can  introduce  you  to  this  Persian 
boy's  home,  I  must  explain  that  at  the  time 
Kablu  came  down  to  the  Indus  it  seemed  as  if 
all  the  mountain  tribes  were  moved  by  one  great 
impulse  to  leave  their  homes  and  journey  west- 
ward, down  the  mountains. 

Down  the  mountains  and  into  the  plain 
poured  the  long  line  of  travellers.  For  many 
moons  you  might  have  watched  them  coming, 
and  you  would  say,  "  The  mountain  land  must 
have  been  full  of  men." 

But  you  may  readily  believe  that  these 
thoughtful  people  knew  better  than  to  stay  ail 
together  when  they  reached  the  plain.  South- 
ward to  the  Indus  went  Kablu  with  his  father 
and  many  others  ;  but  westward  over  the  grand 
.table-land  of  Iran  went  others,  and  some  still 
more  enterprising,  young  people  and  strong,  and 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  %7 

longing  for  a  sight  of  the  great  world,  pushed 
still  farther  until  they  reached  the  shores  of  the 
Black  Sea. 

"  What  shall  we  do  now  ? "  said  Deradetta, 
the  leader  of  the  band. 

"We  will  divide,"  cried  the  young  men.  "Half 
of  us  will  skirt  the  shores  to  the  north,  half  to 
the  south  ;  so  shall  we  find  larger  lands  and 
make  greater  conquests." 

So  Deradetta  led  his  band  to  the  south,  and 
Kalanta  to  the  north,  and  before  they  parted, 
Deradetta  called  them  all  together,  and  said, 
"  Perhaps  we  are  parting  forever.  Do  not  let 
us  forget  the  traditions  of  our  fathers.  Give 
us,  O,  Agni,  brave  comrades,  happy  abundance, 
noble  children,  and  great  wealth." 

Then,  at  the  dawn  of  the  next  day,  Kalanta 
and  his  party  turned  away  to  the  northward, 
and  Deradetta  turned  southward,  but  perhaps, 
by  and  by,  their  great-great-grandchildren  may 
find  each  other  again. 

And  we  shall  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that 
when  the  family  of  Darius  reached  the  land  of 
Persia,  they  found  people  who  had  built  towns 


28         THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NO IV. 

and  even  cities,  and  the  new  comers  naturally 
feared  that  they  might  be  enemies. 

As  they  approached  the  first  village,  a  man  in 
a  long  robe  woven  of  wool,  and  with  loose,  flow- 
ing sleeves,  came  out  to  meet  them.  Pointing 
to  the  horses  that  the  leaders  rode,  he  said  Aspa, 
their  own  name  for  horse,  and  then,  noticing  the 
sacred  fire  which  they  carried  always  with  them, 
he  bent  his  head  reverently. 

"Do  you  also,"  asked  they,  "serve  the  Father 
of  Light  and  Life,  and,  if  so,  who  has  taught  you 
to  worship  thus  ?  " 

And  the  man  understood  their  words,  if  not 
perfectly,  at  least  well  enough  to  comprehend 
their  meaning,  and  he  answered,  — 

"  Our  fathers,  many,  many  moons  ago,  came 
down  from  the  distant  mountains,  bringing  with 
them  the  sacred  fire.  They  taught  us  the  wor- 
ship of  the  Father  of  Light  and  Life." 

And  the  travellers,  overjoyed,  replied  :  — 

"  Our  fathers  too  came  from  the  mountain 
land,  and  we  are  your  brothers  ;  we  will  live  to- 
gether in  peace  in  this  new  land." 

Now  I  must  tell  you  that  the  earliest  settlers 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  29 

had  given  themselves  the  name  of  Medes,  and 
the  new-comers  were  called  Persians. 

And  I  leave  you  to  imagine  how  they  lived 
together  many  years.  At  first  the  Medes  were 
rulers  and  the  Persians  subjects,  but,  by  and  by, 
a  great  and  wise  Persian  named  Cyrus  became 
king,  and  it  was  at  that  time  that  Darius,  the 
boy  of  our  story,  lived. 

And  Darius  had  for  his  friend  Zadok,  a  dark- 
eyed  Hebrew  boy  whom  he  found  by  the  river 
side  one  day  and  took  for  his  companion,  until 
they  were  forever  parted  by  —  but  I  must  not 
tell  that  now,  I  must  begin  at  the  beginning, 
that  you  may  understand  what  Darius  was  do- 
ing when  he  found  Zadok. 

I  shall  have  to  take  you  to  the  great  city  of 
Babylon,  —  a  wonderful  city,  with  high  walls  and 
gates,  palaces  and  gardens  and  temples.  There 
were  golden  shrines  and  images  adorned- with 
gems.  There  were  tables  and  chairs  with  feet 
of  gold  and  silver ;  and  indeed  I  can  hardly 
tell  you  how  magnificent  the  city  was,  as  it  stood, 
like  a  great  gorgeous  jewel,  on  the  plain.  The 
broad  river  Euphrates  flowed  through  it,  and 


30        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO   TO  NOW. 

the  date-trees  grew  upon  its  borders,  and  wild 
pears  and  peaches  ripened  in  its  sunny  valley. 
Shouldn't  you  like  to  live  where  peaches  grow 
wild  ?  But  you  will  wonder  what  this  city  of 
Babylon  had  to  do  with  Darius. 

Why,  he  went  to  live  there  with  his  father 
and  mother,  and  many  other  Persian  families, 
because  his  great  king,  Cyrus,  had  conquered 
Babylon  and  taken  it  for  his  own. 

And  now  I  want  you  to  wake  very  early,  be- 
fore dawn,  and  get  up  quickly,  as  Kablu  did 
when  he  lived  among  the  mountains,  and  come 
with  Darius  to  an  open  field  just  outside  the 
city  gates. 

In  the  dim  light  you  will  see  many  other 
boys,  all  hastening  towards  the  same  place. 
Their  dresses  are  of  leather,  —  a  sort  of  tunic 
and  trousers  ;  they  do  not  easily  wear  out,  and 
the  fashion  never  changes. 

Each  boy  carries  a  bow  and  a  quiver  of 
arrows,  excepting  the  little  boys  of  five  or  six 
years,  who  have  only  slings  and  stones. 

See,  they  are  all  together  now  in  the  field, 
ranged  in  ranks  before  an  officer.  This  is  their 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  31 

school.      Do    you    want    to    know    what    they 
learn  ? 

You  may  look  about  in  vain  for  a  programme 
of  studies,  for  not  one  of  them  —  scholars  or 
even  teachers  —  can  write,  but  their  programme 
is  so  simple  that  when  once  Darius  tells  it  to  us 
we  cannot  forget  it.  Here  it  is  — 

To  SHOOT  WITH  THE  Bow. 

To  RIDE. 

To  SPEAK  THE  TRUTH. 

That  was  all.  Shall  we  stay  awhile  and  see 
how  well  the  lessons  are  learned  ?  Here  is  the 
youngest  class  —  little  boys  only  five  years  old. 
I  think  we  should  teach  the  little  fellows  that 
it  is  wrong  to  throw  stones  ;  but,  see,  they  are 
standing  in  a  row,  each  with  a  smooth  pebble 
in  his  sling,  and  one  after  another  they  throw 
as  far  and  as  straight  as  they  can.  Then,  while 
they  go  for  more  stones,  the  next  class  has  a 
lesson  in  shooting  with  the  bow  and  throwing 
the  javelin. 

After  the  little  boys  have  come  back  and 
practised  with  their  slings,  and  you  have  seen 
their  running  class,  I  want  you  to  wait  for  the 
class  to  which  Darius  belongs. 


32        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

He  has  learned  the  use  of  the  sling  and  the 
bow  and  the  javelin  ;  and  ever  since  he  was 
seven  years  old  he  has  been  on  horseback  every 
day :  but  that  is  not  enough,  he  doesn't  know 
how  to  ride  yet,  —  at  least  so  thinks  his  master. 

The  boys  take  their  javelins  and  stand  in  a 
row ;  a  gate  is  opened,  and  horses,  with  loose 
bridles  and  flowing  manes,  gallop  into  the  field. 
Each  boy  must  spring  upon  the  back  of  one  of 
these  galloping  horses.  Many  the  falls  and  many 
the  failures,  but  success  at  last,  and  presently 
you  see  Darius  coursing  swiftly  over  the  field, 
and  one  by  one  the  others  follow  him.  A  target 
is  fastened  to  the  old  oak  there  at  the  right.  As 
they  pass  it  at  full  gallop,  each  one  throws  his 
javelin  at  the  mark,  and  day  by  day  they  prac- 
tise until  there  are  no  failures ;  sometimes 
with  the  javelin,  sometimes  with  the  bow  and 
arrows,  but  always  at  full  speed  and  with  unerr- 
ing aim.  And  do  you  notice  that  some  of  the 
arrow-heads  are  of  iron,  while  others  are  of 
bronze  ?  I  told  you  it  wouldn't  be  long  before 
these  people  would  find  out  iron. 

After  the  riding  is  ended,  see  the  boys  again 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  33 

before  their  master.  He  stands  in  front  of 
them  with  a  quiet,  reverend  look  on  his  face, 
and  says,  — 

"  Listen  to  the  teachings  of  Zoroaster.  It  is 
written  in  the  holy  Zendavesta,  '  There  are  two 
spirits,  the  Good  and  the  Base.  Choose  one 
of  these  spirits  in  thought,  in  word,  and  deed. 

"' Be  good,  not  base.  The  good  is  holy,  true  ; 
to  be  honored  through  truth,  through  holy  deeds. 

" '  You  cannot  serve  both'  " 

And  the  boys  repeated  after  him, — 

"  Be  good,  not  base.  The  good  is  holy,  true, 
fco  be  honored  through  truth,  through  holy  deeds. 
You  cannot  serve  both." 

Isn't  that  a  good  lesson  for  them  ?  A  good 
lesson  for  you  and  me  too. 

After  this  the  young  children  go  to  their 
homes,  but  Darius  and  others  of  his  age  are  also 
to  hunt  to-day.  The  plains  away  to  the  north 
are  the  home  of  the  antelopes,  and  the  boys  will 
ride  miles  and  miles  in  pursuit  of  them. 

Did  you  notice  that  Darius  didn't  have  his 
breakfast  before  going  to  school,  and  he  hasn't 
had  it  yet,  but  that  doesn't  trouble  him.  One 


34         THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

meal  a  day  is  all  he  ever  thinks  of  taking,  and 
if  he  is  very  much  occupied  with  hunting,  or  has 
a  long  inarch  to  make,  it  is  often  one  meal  in 
two  days  instead  of  one. 

To  night  the  boys  will  sleep  in  the  field,  to  be 
ready  for  an  early  start  in  the  morning  ;  and  be- 
fore the  stars  are  dimmed  by  the  first  light  of 
dawn  you  will  find  them  at  the  ford  of  the  river, 
preparing  to  cross. 

Their  bows  and  arrows  are  at  their  backs,  but 
their  captain  has  given  the  order,  "  Cross  this 
stream  without  allowing  your  weapons  to  get 
wet,"  and  see  how  the  boys  have  placed  both 
bows  and  quivers  on  their  heads,  stepped  fear- 
lessly into  the  water,  taken  each  other's  hands 
in  mid-stream,  where  the  current  is  swiftest,  to 
save  themselves  from  being  swept  off  their  feet, 
and  reached  the  opposite  shore  safely  and  well. 

To-day  they  are  in  a  wild  woody  place,  far 
from  the  city,  and  the  captain  orders  that  they 
find  food  for  themselves,  for,  if  they  would  be 
Persian  soldiers,  they  must  learn  to  live  on  the 
enemy's  country  if  necessary.  Thanks  to  the 
peaches,  the  wild  pears  and  the  acorns,  they 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  35 

make  a  good  dinner,  or  breakfast,  whichever  you 
choose  to  call  it,  and  then  this  day's  lessons  are 
over,  and  they  may  explore  the  fields  as  they 
please. 

And  now,  at  last,  we  are  coming  to  Zadok. 

Darius  was  straying  along  the  river-bank 
when  he  saw  a  black-eyed  boy,  perhaps  a  year 
younger  than  himself,  who  turned  and  half  hid 
himself  among  the  bushes,  when  he  saw  the 
merry  troop  of  Persian  boys. 

"  See  the  Hebrew  boy,"  cries  one  of  the  Per- 
sian lads.  "  He  can  neither  ride  nor  shoot." 

"  What  of  that,"  says  Darius.  "  I  know  him. 
He  can  tell  wonderful  stories,  and  he  knows 
about  dreams  and  about  wars  too.  They  came 
from  the  west,  these  Hebrews,  and  perhaps  he 
has  seen  the  great  salt  sea.  Let  us  bid  him 
come  and  sit  with  us  on  the  rocks,  and  tell  us 
about  the  sea." 

And  Darius,  who  was  a  swift  runner,  sprang 
down  the  path,  and,  overtaking  the  black-eyed 
boy,  said,  "  Come  and  tell  us  about  the  sea,  and 
we  will  give  you  peaches  and  nuts." 

Now  Zadok  had  no  need  to  be  afraid  of  the 


36        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

Persian  boys,  for  their  great  king  Cyrus  had 
been  very  kind  to  his  people.  He  was  a  story- 
teller by  nature  ;  so  he  scrambled  up  the  rocks 
beside  Darius,  and,  sitting  there  with  the  after- 
noon sun  shining  upon  his  face,  he  told  the  Per- 
sian boys  his  story. 

"  Tell  us  about  the  sea,"  cried  they. 

"  I  have  never  seen  it,"  answered  Zadok, 
"  but  my  grandfather  used  to  live  near  it,  and 
he  tells  me  about  the  ships  of  Tyre  that  come 
with  their  great  white  sails  and  long  oars, 
swiftly  over  the  desert  of  waters,  swifter  than 
camels  or  horses,  for  it  is  the  wind,  the  breath  of 
the  Lord,  that  drives  them.  They  bring  cedar- 
wood  and  gold,  and  purple  cloth  and  scarlet. 
My  grandfather  came  away  from  the  sea  when 
he  was  a  boy  like  me,  but  he  never  forgets. 
And  now  we  are  going  back,  back  to  our  old 
home.  I  shall  see  Jerusalem,  and  I  shall  know 
it  well,  though  I  never  saw  it  before." 

"  But  why  did  your  father  come  away  ?  " 

"You  see  this  great  city  of  Babylon,  and  the 
golden  image  of  its  god  Bel  ?  The  people  of 
Babylon  were  worshippers  of  idols,  but  our  God 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  37 

is  no  graven   image,  he  is  the  Most  High,  the 
maker  of  heaven  and  earth." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Persian  boys,  "so  is  ours." 
"  And  do  you  have  prophets  to  teach  you  ? '' 
asked  Zadok  with  surprise. 

"  No,"  answered  Darius,  "  it  is  the  holy 
Zoroaster,  the  golden  star  who  sheds  light  on 
the  way  we  must  go." 

"  But  tell  us  about  the  Babylonians." 
"  When  my  father  was  a  boy,"  continued 
Zadok,  "they  came  to  this  country,  broke  down 
the  walls  of  the  beautiful  city,  Jerusalem  ;  en- 
tered the  holy  temple  where  we  worship  Jeho- 
vah, and  carried  away  the  gold  and  silver  vessels 
from  the  altar.  Then  they  took  the  people, 
men,  women,  and  children,  and  carried  them 
away  captive.  My  father  had  not  lived  in  Jeru- 
salem, but  in  that  time  of  clanger  all  the  country 
people  crowded  into  the  city,  and  so  he  and  all 
his  family  were  marched  away  across  the  desert, 
leaving  behind  them  only  the  ruins  of  their 
homes." 

"Why  didn't  they  fight,"  cried  the  Persian 
boys. 


38         THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

11  They  did  fight,  but  the  Lord  delivered  them 
into  the  hands  of  the  enemy." 

"  Then  this  God  of  yours  is  not  so  strong  as 
the  golden  image  of  Bel,  nor  as  our  God,  who 
makes  us  conquerors,"  said  Darius. 

"Yes  he  is,"  protested  Zadok ;  "ask  my  father, 
he  will  tell  you.  He  is  a  king  above  all  gods. 
He  made  us  captives,  and  he  promised  to  bring 
us  safely  again  out  of  our  captivity,  and  that 
is  why  he  sent  your  king,  Cyrus,  to  set  us  free 
from  the  people  of  Babylon." 

The  Persian  boys  nodded  to  each  other. 
"That  is  true,"  they  said,  "for  we  all  heard  the 
proclamation.  'Thus  saith  Cyrus,  king  of  Per- 
sia. The  Lord  God  of  heaven  hath  given  me 
'all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth,  and  he  hath 
charged  me  to  build  him  a  house  at  Jerusalem, 
who  is  there  among  you  of  all  his  people  ?  The 
Lord  his  God  be  with  him,  and  let  him  go  up 
and  build  it.'" 

But  the  sun  is  setting  and  the  boys  must  go 
home.  You  know  -they  have  to  be  up  very 
early  in  the  morning. 

Do  you  think  their  mothers  have  been  anx- 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  39 

ions  about  them,  that  they  have  saved  a  good 
supper,  or  at  least  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  for 
the  tired  child  who  has  been  away  ever  since 
yesterday  evening  ? 

No,  indeed  ;  Darius  is  twelve  years  old.  He 
is  supposed  to  be  able  to  take  care  of  himself, 
and  his  brother,  who  is  fifteen,  enters  to-morrow 
the  army  of  the  king. 

The  mothers  take  care  of  the  little  boys 
under  five  years  of  age,  —  that  is  all. 

Darius  sees  no  more  of  Zadok  for  some 
months,  for  he  leaves  the  great  city  and  goes  to 
the  farm  of  his  uncle,  where  he  helps  to  take 
care  of  the  flocks  of  pretty  black  sheep  and 
goats,  and  learns  to  guide  the  plough,  and  is 
taught  from  the  Zendavesta  that  one  of  man's 
chief  duties  is  to  till  the  soil  which  the  Father 
of  Life  and  Light  has  given  'to  him,  and  to  plant 
trees,  that  the  fruitful  earth  may  blossom  and  be 
glad. 

One  morning,  while  he  is  at  the  farm,  his 
uncle  seems  anxious  and  troubled.  He  looks 
often  towards  the  southeast  and  turns  away 
only  to  cast  a  sorrowful  eye  upon  his  peach- 


40         THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO   TO 

trees,  just  blossoming,  and  his  apples  and  ^/ears 
forming  their  tiny  fruit  while  their  snow^ 
petals  cover  the  ground. 

We  might  think  that  this  Persian  farmer 
ought  to  be  very  happy,  looking  over  his  promis- 
ing fields  and  orchards  ;  but  no,  the  wind  has 
been  southeast  for  two  days,  and  "  Unless  it 
changes  before  night,"  he  says  mournfully  to 
himself,  "the  locusts  will  be  upon  us.  We 
can  fight  against  men,  but  not  against  insects  ; 
rather  the  whole  Babylonian  army  than  a  swarm 
of  locusts." 

Before  the  morning  star  has  set,  the  boys  are 
roused  from  sleep  by  the  shouts  of  the  farm 
laborers  as  they  run  this  way  and  that,  trying  to 
drive  the  swarm  of  locusts  that  darken  the  air 
in  their  flight.  When  they  have  passed,  not  a 
green  leaf  remains  upon  any  tree,  and  it  is  use- 
less to  hope  for  a  new  crop  this  year. 

Now  his  uncle  must  drive  the  sheep  and 
goats  up  into  the  hill  country,  looking  for  pas- 
ture :  and  Darius  will  go  home  to  Babylon,  tak- 
ing his  cousin  Baryta  with  him. 

Baryta  has  never  seen  the  great  city,  and  as 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  41 

the  two  boys,  dressed  in  their  little  leather  suits, 
trudge  along  over  the  fields  together,  Darius 
begins  to  talk  of  the  wonders  he  will  show 
him. 

"  You  never  saw  the  winged  bulls,  with  their 
great  bearded  faces.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you 
would  be  afraid  of  them." 

"Afraid;  not  I,"  said  Baryta,  " aren't  they 
made  of  stone  ?  who  cares  for  them  !  I  shouldn't 
be  afraid  if  they  were  alive.  You  never  saw  a 
Persian  boy  that  was  a  coward." 

"  But  perhaps  they  are  gods,"  suggested  Da- 
rius, "  like  the  golden  Bel  that  stands  within 
the  gates." 

"  And  if  they  are,  what  then  ?  I  should  think 
we  had  learned  from  the  Zendavesta  that  Or- 
muzd  is  the  maker  and  ruler  of  all.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  their  gods  that  are  only  images.  Who 
ever  saw  an  image  of  Ormuzd  ?  Nobody  could 
make  one,  he  is  so  great." 

"  Yes,  I  know  Ormuzd  is  the  greatest,  for 
haven't  we  Persians  conquered  Babylon  and  all 
its  gods.  I  know  a  boy  in  Babylon,  his  name  is 
Rab-Mag,  and  he  doesn't  dare  go  by  the  shrine 


*2    THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

of  the  golden  Bel  without  bowing  himself  to  the 
ground.  He  is  afraid  of  the  winged  bulls  and 
the  horned  lions  ;  but  then,  you  see,  they  are 
his  gods,  not  ours." 

"  There  is  one  good  thing  in  our  going  back 
to  Babylon  just  'now.  I  think  we  shall  be  in 
time  for  Zadok's  people.  That  will  be  grand  ; 
you  will  like  that." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  Zadok's  people  ? " 
asked  Baryta. 

"Don't  you  know  the  Hebrews?  Wasn't 
there  an  old  Hebrew  man  that  lived  near  the 
farm  ?  Can't  you  remember  last  year,  when  we 
first  came  here,  how  we  used  to  see  them  sitting 
by  the  river-side  and  crying  over  their  troubles, 
because  they  couldn't  go  home  to  their  own 
country  ?  Well,  Zadok  is  a  Hebrew  boy  that  I 
knew  in  Babylon.  He  lives  close  by  the  great 
brazen  gate." 

"  And  what  is  he  going  to  do  that  we  shall 
like  to  see  ? " 

"  Why,  King  Cyrus  has  set  the  Hebrews  free, 
and  they  are  going  home  to  build  up  their  own 
city  again.  The  king  says  their  God  is  the 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  43 

same  as  ours,  —  the  maker  of  heaven  and 
earth.  Zadok  says  his  name  is  Jehovah,  and 
I  know  that  his  name  is  Ormuzd  ;  but  I  sup- 
pose the  king  understands  how  they  are  the 
same.  Now  we  are  just  in  time  to  see  them 
go.  I  think  it  is  to-morrow  that  the  caravan 
starts.  If  we  can  only  get  a  place  upon  the 
city  wall,  we  shall  see  it  grandly." 

And,  full  of  the  idea  of  being  in  time  for 
the  procession,  the  boys  ran  races  with  each 
other,  until  they  were  close  up  to  the  great 
brazen  gates,  which  shone  in  the  sunlight  like 
gold. 

"  Hurrah  ;  here  we  are  !  "  cried  Darius  I 
"  Look,  Baryta,  can  you  read  ?  See,  the  stone- 
cutters have  been  making  a  new  inscription, 
and  we  might  find  out  what  it  is  if  we  could 
read." 

But  Baryta  shook  his  head  ;  reading  had,  as 
yet,  formed  no  part  of  his  education.  He 
couldn't  read  the  inscription,  and  I  don't  believe 
you  could,  either,  if  you  had  been  there.  It 
was  only  a  strange  collection  of  arrow-heads, 
or  wedges,  beautifully  cut  into  the  stone.  We 


44        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW 

should  find  them  now,  if  we  should  go  to  see, 
for  that  is  a  kind  of  writing  that  lasts. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  whole  city  is 
astir.  It  is  the  festival  of  the  new  year  ;  not  our 
first  of  January,  but  the  twenty-first  of  March, 
when  the  sun  passes  the  equator,  and  begins  to 
move  northward. 

I  don't  believe  Darius  had  any  New  Year's 
presents,  and  Christmas  Day  had  passed  like  any 
common  day,  for  this  was  long  before  the  Chris- 
tian era,  and  there  was  no  Christmas  Day.  But 
come  out  with  Darius  to  the  banks  of  the 
Euphrates  early  on  this  New  Year's  morning, 
and  see  the  silver  altar  placed  on  the  high- 
est hill,  and  the  priests,  in  their  pure  white 
robes,  standing  around  it  to  feed  the  sacred 
flame  with  pieces  of  sandal-wood.  The  chief 
priest  pours  the  juice  of  some  plant  upon  the 
fire,  and  then,  as  the  flame  curls  up,  he  casts 
fresh  butter  upon  it,  and,  while  it  burns  clear 
and  bright,  all  the  people  join  in  a  prayer  or 
song  asking  blessings  on  their  nation. 

No  Persian  ever  thought  it  right  to  ask  bless- 
ings for  himself,  but  only  what  was  good  for 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  45 

all,  and  for  him  through  the  blessing  of  the 
whole. 

Do  you  remember  the  little  altar  among  the 
Hindoo  Koosh  mountains,  where  Kablu's  family 
worshipped  without  a  priest  ? 

Isn't  there  something  in  this  service  to  re- 
mind you  of  it  ?  Jhese  far-away  Persians  have 
brought  the  worship  of  the  hills  with  them ; 
and  Zoroaster  (their  golden  star)  has  taught 
them  that  Ormuzd,  the  spirit  of  purity  and 
light,  whose  temple  is  the  earth  and  the  heav- 
ens, needs  neither  image  nor  church  for  his 
worship. 

As  the  service  ends,  the  prostrate  Persians 
rise  and  lift  their  faces  to  the  light,  singing  all 
together,  "  Purity  and  glory  will  grow  and  bloom 
forever  for  those  who  are  pure  and  upright  in 
their  own  hearts." 

And  now  is  the  chance  for  you  to  see  the 
king,  in  his  purple  robe  and  yellow  shoes,  with 
his  fan-bearer  and  his  parasol-bearer  behind  him, 
and  the  bearer  of  the  royal  footstool  to  stand 
ready  beside  the  chariot  the  moment  the  beau- 
tiful black  horses  stop. 


46        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

The  chariots  are  out  upon  the  walls ;  two 
chariots  abreast  on  top  of  the  walls,  and  yet  the 
boys  have  found  room  to  squeeze  themselves  in, 
and  see  the  grand  procession  start.  Men,  women, 
and  children  on  horses,  mules,  and  camels,  bands 
of  musicians  and  singers,  and  in  their  midst, 
carried  aloft  with  all  reverence,  the  vessels  of 
gold  and  silver  that  belong  to  the  Hebrew  tem- 
ple. Out  through  the  brazen  gates,  under  the 
waving  banner  of  the  Persian  eagle  they  go  ; 
and,  as  they  pass  the  chariot  of  Cyrus,  there  is 
a  great  and  prolonged  shout,  "  Long  live  the 
king ! " 

The  boys  join  in  the  shout,  and  indeed  every- 
body joins,  ft  is  a  great  act  of  justice  and 
kindness  from  one  nation  to  another.  They  may 
well  shout  and  be  glad. 

"  Zadok,  Zadok,"  calls  Darius,  as  he  sees  his 
friend  below  in  the  long  procession. 

The  little  dark  face  is  lifted,  the  eyes  light 
up  with  a  friendly  smile,  and  then  Zadok  is 
gone. 

'  Just  then  the  drum  beats  for  the  boys'  even- 
ing exercise   or  drill.     Down  from   the  wall  in 


THE  STORY  OF  DARIUS.  47 

an  instant,  and  away  to  the  field  outside  the 
gates ;  for  is  not  obedience  the  third  of  Persian 
virtues  ? 

TRUTH,  COURAGE,  OBEDIENCE. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    STORY    OF   CLEON,  THE   GREEK   BOY,  WHO 
RAN   AT  THE   OLYMPIC   GAMES. 

"  Ah,  yet  be  mindful  of  your  old  renown. 
Your  great  forefathers'  virtues  and  your  own" 

WE  have  reached  the  third  station  on  our 
road  from  Long  Ago.  See,  it  is  a  beautiful 
country,  with  mountains  and  valleys,  and  the 
blue  Mediterranean  surrounding  it  on  all  sides 
but  the  north.  Lovely,  green  islands  border  it 
like  a  fringe,  and  a  deep  blue  gulf  almost  cuts 
it  in  two. 

Just  south  of  the  entrance  to  this  gulf  lies  a 
48 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  49 

Greek  state  called  Elis,  a  peaceful  state,  where 
flocks  feed,  and  grain  is  waving  in  the  fields  in 
these  July  days,  and  grapes  are  ripening  in  the 
sunshine,  and  nobody  fears  that  some  enemy 
will  suddenly  come  by  land  or  sea,  to  molest 
or  destroy,  for  to  all  the  people  of  Greece  this 
is  a  sacred  state  and  therefore  safe  from  all 
harm. 

I  want  to  show  you  a  valley  in  Elis  before  I 
begin  to  tell  about  Cleon. 

It  is  almost  shut  in  by  mountains,  and  a  river, 
the  Alpheus,  flows  through  it.  Its  hill-sides  are 
green  and  wooded,  and  its  fields  covered  with 
grass  and  flowers.  In  these  old  days,  long  ago, 
a  temple  stood  in  this  valley,  guarded  by  a 
golden  statue  of  Victory,  and  beneath  the  statue 
hung  a  shield  of  gold. 

Shall  I  let  you  pass  between  the  long  rows  of 
pillars  and  look  in  at  the  great  throne,  and  the 
gold  and  ivory  statues  of  Zeus,  the  "  father  of 
gods  and  men/' 

See  how  beautiful  the  throne  is  ;  cedar-wood 
and  ebony,  and  richly  set  with  precious  stones ; 
but  when  we  look  at  the  mighty  statue  that  sits 


50        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

upon  it,  we  forget  all  the  glory  of  the  throne, 
and  think  only  of  the  Olympian  Zeus. 

Those  old  Greeks  used  to  say,  "  Not  to  have 
seen  the  Olympian  Zeus  was  indeed  a  misfor- 
tune to  any  man."  The  great  sculptor,  Phidias, 
had  done  his  finest  work  when  he  made  this 
statue.  He  made  it  as  beautiful  and  as  grand  as 
he  could,  because  he  said  always  to  himself 
while  he  worked,  "  It  is  in  honor  of  the  mighty 
Zeus,  the  father  of  all  the  gods,  and  he  will  look 
with  favor  on  my  work  if  it  is  worthy."  So  he 
carved  the  face,  the  chest,  the  arms  and  the  feet 
of  ivory ;  the  hair  and  beard  of  solid  gold,  the 
eyes  were  precious  stones,  and  the  robe  was  of 
gold  with  jewelled  flowers.  In  one  outstretched 
hand  stood  a  golden  figure  of  the  Winged  Vic- 
tory, -in  the  other  was  the  mighty  sceptre. 
Forty  feet  high  was  this  grand  statue  ( as  high 
as  the  house  I  live  in).  He  sat  there  with  a 
look  sublime  and  inapproachable,  yet  not  stern 
nor  angry. 

And  this  statue  our  little  Cleon  is  really 
going  to  see  with  his  own  eyes.  I  wish  we 
could  see  it  with  him,  for  to  us  also,  to  you  and 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  5  I 

to  me,  it  would  be  very  grand,  though  we  know 
that  no  image  can  represent  God,  the  father  of 
us  all ;  but  the  rows  of  pillars  and  the  long 
lines  of  light  and  shadows  that  fall  across  the 
pavement,  the  costly  throne,  the  gems  and  gold 
and  ivory,  the  majestic  figure  and  face,  and  the 
great  golden  Victory  over  the  door,  make  us 
stand  still  with  a  solemn  feeling  and  ask  what  it 
all  means. 

Can  you  see  it  like  a  picture,  and  will  you  not 
forget  it,  while  I  take  you  away  to  Cleon  and 
the  others,  who  are  hastening  over  the  long 
roads  in  the  bright  summer  weather,  towards 
this  very  valley,  to  take  part  in  the  great  Olym- 
pic games  ? 

From  the  south  came  the  Spartan  youths, 
marching  (they  always  march  instead  of  walk- 
ing) over  the  rough  road  with  their  bare  feet. 
A  bit  of  black  bread  in  their  wallets,  and  water 
from  a  wayside  spring,  is  food  enough  for  the 
journey.  Among  them  are  four  boys  who 
trudge  on  silently  behind  their  companions.  It 
is  not  respectful  for  boys  to  speak  in  the  pres- 
ence of  men. 


$2        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW, 

Will  the  boys  get  very  tired  on  this  long  walk, 
full  sixty  miles,  I  think  ?  Or,  if  they  do,  will 
the  men  stop  for  them  to  rest  or  march  slower 
for  their  sake  ?  Oh  no,  they  are  used  to  such 
marches.  If  they  can't  keep  up  they  had  best 
go  back,  for  none  but  vigorous  athletes  are 
wanted  at  Olympia.  Few  comforts  these  boys 
have  had  in  their  lives,  and  no  luxuries.  For 
this  last  year  they  have  been  left  to  their  own 
resources,  living  upon  what  they  could  find  or 
steal.  Their  bed  is  of  rushes  that  they  gathered 
by  the  river-side,  and  last  winter,  when  it  was 
very  cold,  they  added  to  it  thistle-down  that 
they  pulled  in  the  fields. 

Watch  for  these  boys,  you  will  see  them 
again. 

From  Corinth  and  from  Thebes  they  are  com- 
ing, young  men  for  the  games,  old  men  to  look 
on,  and  recall  the  days  when  they  too  were 
young.  And  the  islands  are  sending  their 
bravest  and  best,  and  the  distant  colonies  fit  out 
ships  with  two  or  three  rows  of  long  oars,  and 
carry  the  colonists  home  for  the  great  games. 

But  we  have  chiefly  to  do  with  the  travellers 
from  Athens,  among  whom  is  Cleon. 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  53 

That  you  may  know  Cleon  well,  I  must  tell 
you  what  he  has  been  doing  for  the  past  few 
years,  and  I  can't  tell  you  that  without  intro 
ducing  to  you  his  pedagogue. 

I  sometimes  wish  the  boys  had  pedagogues  in 
these  days.  Perhaps  you  don't  know  what  a 
pedagogue  was,  and  can't  tell  whether  you 
would  like  to  have  one  or  not. 

Look  in  the  dictionary  and  you  find  the  defi- 
nition, a  teacher  or  schoolmaster ;  then  you  will 
say,  "Why,  yes  indeed,  I  do  have  a  pedagogue." 

But  if  you  look  in  the  great  unabridged  dic- 
tionary, you  will  see,  just  after  the  word  "peda- 
gogue" and  before  the  definition,  two  strange- 
looking  words  in  Greek  letters,  and  their  mean- 
ings following  them.  —  "to  lead,"  and  "a  child." 
So  you  see  that  in  Greece,  where  the  word  came 
from,  a  pedagogue  was  one  who  led  a  child. 

Every  man  in  Athens  who  could  afford  it 
bought  slaves.  These  slaves  were  the  captives 
taken  from  other  nations  in  war,  and  sold  for 
greater  or  less  prices  according  to  their  ability; 
a  man  or  woman  who  could  only  cook  might  be 
bought  for  a  mina  of  silver,  while  a  learned  man, 


54        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NO W. 

who  could  oftentimes  teach  not  only  the  chil 
dren  but  the  father  himself,  might  cost  a  thou- 
sand drachmas. 

Among  the  family  slaves  was  always  a  peda- 
gogue, who,  as  soon  as  the  little  boys  of  six  1-eft 
the  care  of  their  mothers  and  nurses,  led  them 
to  school,  went  with  them  to  their  games, 
watched  over  them  in  every  way,  that  they 
might  form  no  bad  habits,  and  that  they  might 
also  notice  and  become  interested  in  all  that 
was  best  and  most  beautiful. 

They  led  them  to  school,  and  then  left  them 
with  the  schoolmaster.  When  they  were  old 
enough,  led  them  to  the  gymna-sium,  where 
there  was  always  one  room  set  apart  for  the 
boys,  where  they  were  trained  in  racing,  wrest- 
ling,.and  all  manly  games. 

But  we  shall  understand  it  all  better  if  we  go 
to  school  with  Cleon  and  see  what  he  does 
there. 

The  pedagogue  leads  him  to  school  at  sun- 
rise. On  Monday  morning  do  you  suppose  ?  Oh 
no,  there  were  no  Mondays  and  no  weeks, — 
at  least  no  weeks  like  ours.  Three  decades 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  55 

made  a  month.  Some  months  had  thirty  days, 
and  in  those  each  decade  was,  as  its  name 
shows,  ten  days;  but  others  had  only  twenty- 
nine  days,  and  then  the  last  decade  had  but 
nine ;  and  as  for  the  names  of  the  days,  they 
were  only  first,  second,  third,  and  so  on. 

School  began  at  sunrise  and  ended  at  sunset, 
but  I  hope  the  same  set  of  boys  did  not  stay  all 
that  time. 

Cleon  is  even  earlier  than  usual  this  morning: 
for  Glaucon  — a  boy  two  or  three  years  older 
than  himself — is  still  busy  washing  the  benches 
with  a  great  sponge,  while  Lysias  grinds  the  ink 
for  the  parchment  writing  and  waxes  the  tablets. 
These  boys  are  too  poor  to  pay  a  teacher,  and 
yet  they  have  a  great  love  of  learning,  so  they 
are  working  for  the  schoolmaster,  who  will  pay 
them  in  teaching. 

Little  Cleon  is  still  in  the  youngest  class, 
learning  to  read  and  to  repeat  poetry,  but  next 
year  he  will  begin  to  write  on  a  little  waxed 
tablet  with  a  pen  called  a  stylus.  It  is  made  of 
ivory,  pointed  at  one  end  and  flattened  at  the 
other.  He  writes  with  the  pointed  end,  and 


$6        THF.  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

afterwards  rubs  out  the  letters  and  smooths 
over  the  wax  with  the  other,  and  the  tablet  it 
all  ready  for  a  new  lesson. 

He  has  a  little  classmate  named  Atticus, 
who  found  it  almost  impossible  to  learn  his 
letters,  although  in  the  way  of  mischief  there 
was  nothing  Atticus  couldn't  learn.  So  at  last 
his  father  took  him  away  from  school  and 
bought  twenty-four  little  slaves  of  the  same  age 
as  his  son.  These  little  fellows  he  named  for 
the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  —  not  A,  B,  C,  but 
Alpha,  Beta,  etc.,  —  and  he  hired  a  schoolmaster 
to  teach  the  whole  twenty-five  together,  and  it 
wasn't  long  before  Atticus,  who  shouted  to 
Gamma  to  catch  the  ball,  or  called  Delta  to  run 
a  race  with  him,  had  learned  all  the  letters  and 
begun  to  put  them  together  to  make  words. 

Before  Cleon  began  to  go  to  school,  and  when 
he  was  still  a  very  little  boy,  only  five  years  old, 
he  one  day  climbed  up  the  steps  that  led  to  his 
mother's  bed ;  for  you  must  know  that  going  up 
stairs  to  bed  was  exactly  what  they  always  had 
to  do  in  Athens,  for  the  bedsteads  were  so  high 
as  to  need  several  steps  to  reach  them.  Well, 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  $ 

he  climbed  up  stairs  on  to  his  mother's  bed,  and, 
wrapping  his  little  chiton  across  his  breast  with 
one  arm,  held  out  the  other  as  he  had  seen  the 
orator  do  when  his  nurse  led  him  past  the 
marble  porticos,  where  the  people  were  often 
gathered  to  hear  some  wise  man  speak,  and 
then,  in  his  baby-talk,  made  a  little  speech, 
beginning,  "Citizens  of  Athens." 

Though  his  father  and  mother  did  not  appear 
to  take  special  notice  of  this  at  the  time ;  they 
afterwards  said  one  to  the  other,  "  Our  boy  will 
become  an  orator ;  we  must  see  that  he  studies 
the  works  of  the  poets." 

So,  even  before  he  can  handle  the  stylus,  he 
has  begun  to  study  the  grand,  heroic  verses  of 
Homer ;  not  from  a  book,  for  I  am  sure  you 
must  know  that  there  were  no  printed  books  in 
those  days,  and  few  written  ones  ;  but  his  master 
taught  him,  being  quite  as  careful  that  he  should 
stand  gracefully,  and  hold  his  head  erect,  and 
his  arms  and  hands  at  ease,  as  that  he  should 
understand  the  noble  words  and  repeat  them  in 
a  clear  tone  and  with  good  expression. 

Sometimes  it  is  a  speech  of  the  wise  Nestor 
to  the  Greeks  before  Troy  :  — 


58        'iHE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

"  O  friends,  be  men  :  your  generous  breasts  inflame 
With  mutual  honor  and  with  mutual  shame ; 
Think  of  your  hopes,  your  fortunes  ;  all  the  care 
Your  wives,  your  infants,  and  your  parents  share. 
Think  of  each  loving  father's  reverend  head, 
Think  of  each  ancestor  with  glory  dead  ; 
Absent,  by  me  they  speak,  by  me  they  sue, 
They  ask  their  safety  and  their  fame  from  you." 

Or  with  Ajax  he  makes  a  stand  to  defend  the 
ships,  and  shouts, — 

"  O  friends  !  O  heroes  !  names  forever  dear, 
Once  sons  of  Mars  and  thunder-bolts  of  war ! 
Ah  !  yet  be  mindful  of  your  old  renown 
Your  great  forefathers'  virtues  and  your  own. 
This  spot  is  all  we  have  to  lose  or  keep, 
There  stand  the  Trojans,  and  here  rolls  the  deep." 

Or  he  learns  by  heart  the  brave  old  tales,  and 
grows  to  understand,  — 

"  Not  hate,  but  glory,  made  those  chiefs  contend 
And  each  brave  foe  was  in  his  soul  a  friend," 

Inspired  by  such  grand  words  the  boys  will 
grow  up  to  do  brave  deeds  in  battle  some  day 
themselves. 

When  they  can  read  and  write  and  count,  and 
reckon  by  nilmbers  a  little,  the  lessons  in  music 
will  begin.  For  although  the  law  of  Solon 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  59 

teaches  only  that  every  Athenian  must  learn  to 
read  and  to  swim,  no  less  surely  must  every 
Athenian  learn  to  sing  and  to  play  on  the  lute 
or  cithara  ;  for  he  must  be  able  to  sing  the  great 
paean  when  he  goes  into  battle,  to  join  in  the 
sacred  choruses  in  honor  of  the  gods,  and  also, 
in  time  of  peace,  he  must  know  how  to  play  and 
sing  for  the  pleasure  of  himself  and  his  friends 
in  company. 

But  of  course  Cleon  does  something  besides 
study. 

Don't  you  want  to  go  out  with  him  to  the  sea- 
shore, three  miles  away,  and  skip  shells  (flat 
oyster-shells),  as  we  do  stones,  on  the  blue 
water  of  the  Mediterranean  ?  And  he  can  play 
leap-frog  with  the  best  of  you.  It  is  a  Persian 
game,  brought  from  that  country  years  ago. 
To  play  ball  is  a  part  of  his  education,  for  the 
body  must  be  educated  as  well  as  the  mind,  and 
it  makes  one  erect  and  agile  to  toss  and  catch 
and  run. 

A  year  or  two  ago  he  used  to  drive  hoop,  a 
lovely  hoop  with  tinkling  bells  around  the 
inside  of  it.  Wouldn't  that  be  a  good  Christ- 


60        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

mas  present  for  somebody  ?  Do  you  suppose  it 
was  a  Christmas  present  to  him  ? 

No,  there  is  no  Christmas  yet,  any  more  than 
there  was  for  Darius.  He  had  the  hoop  on  his 
birthday.  He  is  too  old  for  it  now,  but  it  is 
put  away  in  case  he  should  ever  have  a  little 
brother. 

It  is  only  within  a  year  that  Cleon  has  been 
training  for  the  foot-races. 

Perhaps  you  don't  see  why  every  Athenian 
boy  must  be  a  swift  runner,  but  when  you  re- 
member that  war  was  then  the  chief  occupation 
of  the  people,  and  that  a  Greek  army  ran  into 
battle  shouting  a  grand  paean,  you  will  realize 
that  a  soldier  untrained  in  running  was  but  half 
a  soldier. 

Cleon  has  been  doing  his  very  best  in  the 
racing,  for  this  year  he  is  going  for  the  first  time 
to  the  great  Olympic  games.  Three  of  his 
neighbors  and  friends  go  with  him,  and  of 
course  his  pedagogue,  Diogenes,  who  has  trained 
him  so  well,  goes  with  him  also.  He  will  take 
care  of  them  all,  and  the  boys  must  be  sure  to 
obey  him  ;  for  obedience  is  one  of  the  duties  of  a 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  6 1 

good  citizen,  and  good  citizens  they  are  all 
bound  to  become. 

You  and  I  have  reason  to  be  particularly 
interested  in  these  Athenian  boys ;  for  Athens 
is  a  republic,  the  very  first  republic  in  the 
world,  so  far  as  we  know,  and  all  that  you  learn 
in  becoming  acquainted  with  Cleon  will  show 
you  what  was  necessary  in  those  old  days  to 
make  boys  into  good  citizens  of  a  republic. 

And  now,  at  last,  we  set  out  on  the  journey 
to  Olympia. 

The  dress  of  the  boys  is  a  simple  chiton,  a 
little  garment  of  linen  without  sleeves,  and  they 
have  sandals  on  their  feet,  because  this  journey 
is  long,  and  they  will  not  unfit  their  feet  for  the 
race ;  but  often  and  often  they  have  walked 
miles  and  miles  barefooted.  They  need  no 
hats,  for  one  of  their  earliest  lessons  was  to  stand 
with  uncovered  head  in  the  hottest  sunshine,  as 
well  as  to  endure  the  coldest  weather  without 
any  clothes  at  all.  So  they  walk  with  a  light 
step,  and  find  little  trouble  in  keeping  up  with 
their  older  brothers,  who  are  going  to  join  in  the 
wrestling  matches  and  the  other  games. 


62        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

Eudexion.  indeed,  rides  on  horseback,  wearing 
his  white  chlamys,  purple-bordered  and  with  four 
tasselled  corners.  But  even  that  you  would  not 
think  was  much  of  a  dress,  for  it  is  only  an 
oblong  strip  of  cloth  with  a  button  to  fasten  it 
together  on  the  right  shoulder,  so  as  to  leave  the 
right  arm  bare,  and  free  to  use  spear  or  bow. 

You  will  see  by  and  by,  however,  that  this 
very  simple  way  of  dressing  is  exceedingly  con- 
venient to  these  Greeks. 

It  is  the  Seventy-seventh  Olympiad.  You 
remember  that  Kablu  measured  time  by  moons. 
Cleon  measured  by  Olympiads.  And  what  was 
an  Olympiad  ?  Why,  it  was  four  years ;  and  it 
was  counted  from  one  celebration  of  the  Olym- 
pic games  to  another. 

If  you  asked  Cleon  at  what  time  he  began  to  go 
to  school,  he  would  have  answered,  "  In  the  third 
year  of  the  Seventy-fourth  Olympiad."  Now 
count  back,  and  you  will  find  out  how  old  he  is. 

But  we  must  go  back  to  our  journey.  You 
and  I  should  call  such  a  journey  a  long,  delight- 
ful pic-nic  ;  camping  at  night  in  a  sheltering 
cave;  bathing  every  day  in  some  clear  stream; 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  63 

feasting  on  wild  figs  and  olives  and  almonds ; 
and  stopping  sometimes  at  a  farm-house  for  bar- 
ley-cakes and  honey. 

We  join  in  the  morning  song  of  the  farmer's 
boys,  — 

"Come  forth,  beloved  sun," 

and  we  watch  the  toiling  oxen,  yoked  with  a 
maple  yoke,  curved  like  a  serpent  winding 
round  their  necks  ;  and  we  listen  to  the  half, 
naked,  happy-looking  lad  who  trudges  beside 
them,  singing  to  himself,  "  He  who  toils  is  be- 
loved by  gods  and  men."  "  Be  industrious,  for 
famine  is  the  companion  of  the  idle." 

At  noon  we  reach  a  hospitable  farm-house, 
where  the  cook  stands  beside  her  fire,  stirring  a 
great  pot  of  broth  with  a  fig-tree  ladle  to  give  it 
a  fine  flavor  ;  and  in  fact  we  find  bowls  of  it  deli- 
cious and  refreshing  as  a  preparation  for  the 
afternoon's  march.  You  see  we  don't  travel  on 
the  Spartan  plan. 

But  we  mustn't  stop  too  long  on  the  road. 
Only  notice,  as  we  come  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  beautiful  valley,  what  troops  of  people  we 
meet,  all  on  their  way  to  the  same  place.  Some 


64        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

have  come  down  from  the  mountains,  and  among 
them  is  an  old  man  who  has  come  all  the  way 
from  a  distant  mountain  hamlet,  and  only  to- 
day joined  the  company  in  which  we  meet  him. 

"Were  you  not  afraid  to  travel  so  far  alone  ? " 
he  was  asked. 

"  Oh  no,"  he  answered ;  "  I  carry  a  laurel 
staff." 

Though  you  and  I  don't  see  how  a  laurel  staff 
should  protect  him,  Cleon  knows  that  the  sacred 
laurel  is  a  safeguard  from  all  evil,  and  he  looks 
curiously  and  with  a  sort  of  awe  at  the  old 
man's  staff. 

But  while  we  talk,  Cleon  is  already  in  the 
valley,  and  stands  gazing,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  at  the  golden  Victory.  On  the  morrow 
morning  he  will  pray  to  Zeus  for  victory,  and 
then  take  his  place  among  the  foot-racers. 

There  couldn't  be  a  brighter  morning  than 
the  next.  How  the  sun  shines  on  the  golden 
statue  and  shield,  and  on  the  hundred  bronze 
statues  of  Olympian  victors  that  stand  around 
the  sacred  place. 

Perhaps   you   can't   understand    how   games 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  65 

could  be  sacred.  But  I  think  there  is  a  true 
meaning  in  thinking  of  it  as  Cleon  had  been 
taught  to.  The  great  god  Zeus  had  given  him 
a  strong  and  beautiful  body,  and  now  he  came 
to  the  temple  of  Zeus  to  show  that  he  had  used 
that  body  well,  and  trained  it  to  feats  of  strength 
and  skill,  kept  it  sacred,  not  injured  it  by  care- 
lessness or  ill-treatment,  but  made  the  most  of 
it  all  the  time. 

All  the  boys  who  are  to  run  are  together  on 
one  side  of  the  field.  Cleon,  who  arrives  very 
early,  watches  the  others  as  they  enter.  He  is 
thinking  whether  they  will  be  worthy  opponents 
in  the  race.  He  is  not  afraid  of  any  of  the 
Athenian  boys.  He  has  beaten  them  all  many 
times  already.  But  here  are  boys  from  all 
parts  of  Greece,  and  good  runners  too.  Still 
he  has  little  fear  until  he  sees  a  rugged,  sun- 
burned face  under  a  shock  of  uncombed  hair, 
keen  eyes  that  look  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 
the  left,  and  yet  see  everything ;  a  light  step, 
neither  quick  nor  slow,  but  very  sure,  caring  not 
for  rough  roads,  wet  or  dry,  trained  to  march  in 
the  darkest  night  as  steadily  as  by  clay.  It  is 


66        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

Aristodemus,  the  Spartan  boy,  —  not  a  very 
pleasing  object  beside  the  Athenian  boys,  in 
their  clean  linen  chitons,  and  fresh  from  their 
morning  bath. 

Aristodemus  has  but  one  chiton  a  year,  and 
he  wears  that  until  it  is  worn  out.  In  summer  he 
often  goes  without,  in  order  that  it  may  last 
through  the  winter ;  and  this  poor  garment,  I 
am  sure,  has  never  made  the  acquaintance  of 
the  washtub.  This,  however,  is  the  boy  —  the 
one  boy  —  that  Cleon  has  reason  to  dread  in  the 
race. 

And  now  the  day  begins  with  a  solemn  sacri- 
fice to  Zeus,  the  father  of  light.  Ten  bulls, 
their  horns  decked  with  oak  wreaths,  are  led  up 
to  the  altar  and  killed,  and  the  priest  prays.  As 
the  flame  is  kindled  and  curls  up  around  the 
sacrifice,  the  people  all  join  in  the  sacred  chorus,- 
ending  with  the  prayer,  "  Zeus,  our  Lord,  give 
unto  us  whatever  is  good,  whether  we  ask  it  of 
thee  or  not  ;  whatever  is  evil  keep  from  us,  even 
if  we  ask  it  of  thee." 

Then  the  games  begin.  The  boys  race  first. 
Their  pedagogues  have  already  handed  in  their 


THE  STORY  OF  OLE  ON.  6? 

names  and  stated  their  parentage,  for  none  who 
are  not  of  pure  Greek  descent  can  enter,  nor 
can  any  one  who  has  committed  crime. 

A  silver  urn  contains  the  lots  which  assign 
places  to  the  racers.  The  boys  move  forward 
in  order,  and  draw.  Then  the  holders  of  the  first 
four  numbers  take  their  places  first  upon  the 
course. 

And  now  you  see  how  convenient  is  the  Greek 
dress,  for  unfasten  only  one  button  and  off  falls 
the  chiton,  and  the  boy  is  ready  for  the  race, 
with  his  agile  limbs  free  from  all  clothes,  and 
without  the  least  feeling  of  shame,  for  you  must 
remember  that  this  has  always  been  the  custom 
with  them. 

The  signal  is  given  and  they  are  off,  like 
bright  arrows  from  a  bow. 

The  victor  is  Charicles,  one  of  Cleon's  Athe- 
nian friends.  He  stands  now  by  himself,  a 
proud  and  happy  boy,  to  watch  the  next  four. 

Aristodemus  is  winner  in  the  third  race,  Cleon 
in  the  fourth.     And  now  all  the  winners  are  to 
run  together  for  the  olive  crown. 
*  Cleon  stands  erect,  raises  his  hands  towards 


68        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

heaven,  and  calls  upon  Zeus,  Athene,  and 
Apollo  to  help  him. 

Then  once  again  the  signal  is  given,  and, 
with  his  bright  locks  blowing  in  the  wind,  Cleon 
is  off. 

These  two  boys  —  the  Spartan  and  the  Athe- 
nian—  quickly  outstrip  the  others.  The  Athe- 
nians cheer  Cleon,  calling  upon  Pallas  Athene  to 
aid  him  for  the  honor  of  Athens. 

The  Spartans  shout  to  Aristodemus  to  con- 
quer  for  Sparta.  When  Cleon's  foot  is  at  the 
goal,  Aristodemus  is  but  one  pace  behind  him  ; 
so  the  olive  crown  is  for  the  golden  head  of 
Cleon  instead  of  the  tangled  locks  of  the  Spartan 
boy.  But  Cleon  turns  to  grasp  the  hand  of  his 
opponent,  understanding  now,  perhaps  for  the 
^rst  time,  — 

"Not  hate,  but  glory,  made  these  chiefs  contend, 
And  each  brave  foe  was  in  his  soul  a  friend." 

Now  our  boy  will  have  his  name  inscribed 
first  on  the  list  of  victors,  for  they  always  give 
the  boys  the  first  place.  He  has  done  honor 
to  his  parents  and  to  his  city,  and  he  stands 
through  the  long  summer  day  to  watch  the  race 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  69 

of  the  young  men  in  armor,  the  leaping,  wrest- 
ling, and  throwing  the  spear  ;  and  last,  the  great 
chariot  race;  and  he  has  a  new  feeling  of  be- 
longing to  it  all ;  and  he  shouts  when  Athens 
wins,  and  watches  anxiously  when  the  Corin- 
thian and  Theban  youths  throw  the  spear  or  the 
diskos,  lest  they  should  excel  his  dear  Athe- 
nians. 

The  wrestling  on  the  second  day  was  perhaps 
the  most  skilful  ever  seen  in  Greece,  —  the 
young  men,  their  bodies  oiled  and  sprinkled  with 
sand,  seizing  each  other's  slight  forms  with  a 
grasp  that  would  not  let  go. 

At  last  two  of  them  only  remained  to  decide 
the  contest,  a  Spartan  and  an  Athenian.  They 
were  locked  in  each  other's  arms  and  neither 
would  yield. 

The  silent,  almost  breathless,  people  watch 
them  as  the  minutes  go  by.  At  last,  the  Spar- 
tan, as  if  he  had  summoned  all  his  strength  for 
this  one  effort,  slowly  forces  his  antagonist  to 
the  ground,  and  then  falls  beside  him — dead. 
There  is  a  great  shout.  "The  crown  of  the 
dead  victor  for  Sparta  ! "  And  the  Spartans 


7O        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

themselves  are  loudest  in  the  applause.  Nobody 
sorrows  over  him. 

They  will  carry  back  his  crown,  to  hang  it  over 
his  grave  in  Sparta.  His  name  will  be  written 
among  the  victors  ;  perhaps,  even,  he  will  have  a 
statue  in  his  honor.  So  they  despatch  a  swift 
runner  to  Sparta  to  tell  the  good  news  to  his 
father,  and  then  the  games  go  on. 

When  they  are  finished,  all  these  people  dis- 
perse until  the  next  Olympiad,  and  wherever 
they  go  they  will  be  eagerly  asked,  "  Who  has 
won  at  the  games  ?  "  and  they  will  tell  the  names 
with  pride,  and  rehearse  the  story  of  the  dead 
victor. 

Cleon  goes  home  to  Athens,  and  he  finds  the 
door  of  his  father's  house  decorated  with  gar- 
lands, while  that  of  Theognis,  his  next  neigh- 
bor, has  a  little  flock  of  soft,  white  wool  hang- 
ing over  it.  He  shouts  for  joy  when  he  sees  the 
garlands,  for  he  knows  the  meaning  of  such  a 
decoration,  a  baby  brother  has  been  born  to  him, 
and  this  is  the  festival  day  in  honor  of  the  happy 
event. 

The  Spartan  nurse  who  has  been  hired  to  take 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  7l 

care  of  him  has  this  morning  carried  the  tiny 
baby,  in  her  arms,  two  or  three  times  around 
the  burning  altar  of  the  hearth,  while  all  the 
household  united  in  the  worship  of  Hestia,  the 
goddess  of  the  hearth.  In  a  few  days  will  come 
the  name-day,  and  the  festival  for  the  friends 
and  relatives. 

Cleon  is  glad  to  be  at  home  before  this  feast- 
day,  for  he  likes  to  see  the  guests  in  their  rich 
dresses,  with  golden  grasshoppers  fastening  the 
heavy  curls  on  their  foreheads,  to  hear  the  mu- 
sic, and  perhaps  to  get  a  taste  of  the  fruits  left 
from  their  tables. 

And  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  flock  of 
wool  on  the  door  of  Theognis  ?  Oh,  that  meant 
a  baby  too,  but  a  girl,  not  a  boy.  I  suppose 
they  put  wool  because  she  would  be  a  spinner 
and  weaver,  as  all  Greek  women  were. 

And  now  I  am  reminded  by  the  wreath  on  the 
door  that  I  have  never  taken  you  into  Cleon's 
home,  and  you  don't  even  know  at  all  what  kind 
of  house  it  is. 

Let  us  go  out  into  the  street  and  see  just 
how  the  outside  looks. 


72         THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

I  should  call  it  a  blank  wall  built  up  close  tc 
the  street,  with  a  door  in  the  middle  of  it.  Do 
you  think  Cleon's  little  sister  Thratta  will  be 
looking  out  at  the  front  windows  to  see  the  peo- 
ple pass  in  the  streets.  Oh  no,  indeed,  people 
don't  look  out  of  their  front  windows  in  Athens. 
The  front  rooms  are  only  for  the  porters,  and 
sometimes  even  for  the  stables,  so  we  pass 
quickly  through  the  narrow  entry  that  lies  be- 
tween them,  and  reach  what  I  should  call  the 
real,  true  house. 

Did  you  notice  that  the  door,  unlike  ours, 
opens  outwards,  and,  as  the  house  stands  direct- 
ly on  the  street,  the  opening  of  the  door  may 
knock  down  some  person  who  is  passing,  and 
yet  there  are  very  few  such  accidents,  for  who- 
ever goes  out  knocks  loudly  on  the  inside  of  the 
door  before  he  opens  it,  and  the  passers  by 
hear  the  knock,  understand  its  meaning,  and 
keep  out  of  the  way. 

Do  you  wonder  why  they  made  the  doors  in 
this  way  ?  So  did  I,  until  they  showed  me  how 
well  a  house  might  be  defended  against  an 
enemy,  if  the  door  opened  outwards  —  and  in 


THE   STORY  OF  CLEON.  73 

those  old  times,  you  know,  there  were  many 
wars,  and  much  fighting  even  in  the  streets  of 
cities  sometimes. 

But  we  are  friends,  not  enemies,  and  now  we 
are  fairly  inside  the  house  and  looking  at  the 
beautiful  statue  that  stands  at  the  inner  door- 
way. It  is  Apollo,  god  of  trfb  silver  bow.  He 
stands  there  to  guard  and  to  bless  the  house. 

We  pass  him  and  follow  Cleon  as  he  runs 
through  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  passage  to 
seek  his  mother.  Here  we  stand  in  a  fine  open 
courtyard,  right  in  the  middle  of  the  house. 
The  blue  sky  is  overhead,  rows  of  marble  pillars 
form  a  colonnade  around  it,  and  pleasant  rooms 
open  from  it  on  both  sides. 

But  neither  the  mother  nor  little  Thratta  is 
here  ;  and  out  through  the  door  at  the  other 
end  runs  Cleon.  Another  open  hall,  but  not 
half  so  large  as  the  first,  and  in  it  the  sacred 
hearth  of  stone  round  which  the  baby  was 
carried  to-day. 

See,  just  as  we  come  in,  a  slave  girl  who  has 
in  her  hand  the  fragments  of  a  beautiful  porce- 
lain pitcher,  has  run  to  the  hearth  and  knelt 


74        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

upon  it,  while  she  looks  up  tearfully  to  the 
hand  that  is  about  to  strike  her  for  her  careless- 
ness. She  has  run  to  the  altar  of  the  hearth 
for  protection,  and  she  is  safe ;  no  one  will 
punish  her  there. 

Cleon  even  remembers  how  one  wild,  stormy 
night,  when  he  wS.s  a  very  little  child,  a  poor 
stranger,  lost  in  the  storm,  entered  the  house 
and  claimed  the  protection  of  the  hearth,  and 
how  his  father  had  said  kindly,  "  If  you  were 
my  enemy,  you  were  safe  on  the  asylum  of  the 
hearth." 

I  think  we,  who  are  strangers,  will  wait  beside 
the  hearth  while  Cleon  opens  the  door  at  the 
left  side  of  the  hall  and  finds  his  mother  with 
the  little  new  baby  brother. 

But  I  hear  the  sound  of  the  loom,  and 
presently  Cleon  will  lead  us  still  on  through 
another  door  at  the  back  of  the  hall,  to  the 
rooms  where  the  maids  are  spinning  and  weav- 
ing, and  then  out  into  the  garden,  where  little 
Thratta  is  playing  at  hide-and-seek  with  her 
playmate  Cadmea. 

But    we    must    not    forget    that    Cleon    has 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  75 

brought  home  the  crown  of  wild  olive.  He  is 
an  honor  to  his  parents  and  to  Athens.  His 
father  and  mother  praise  him,  his  sister 
Thratta  makes  him  a  myrtle  wreath,  and  he 
begins  to  feel  himself  growing  into  a  good 
citizen. 

By  the  way,  do  you  notice  that  he  wears 
golden  ear-rings  ?  Don't  you  think  that  is  odd 
for  a  boy  ?  I  thought  so,  and  I  wondered  why, 
until  he  told  me  this  story  about  it. 

"Have  you  ever  heard,"  he  said,  "of  the 
sacred  oracle  of  Apollo  at  Delphi  ?  When 
anything  of  importance  is  to  be  decided,  the 
Greeks  always  go  and  ask  the  wise  counsel  of 
the  oracle.  So  once  when  the  wise  men  were 
trying  to  find  out  what  they  should  do  to  make 
their  sons  grow  up  into  good  citizens,  they 
decided  to  send  two  men  —  my  father  was  one 
and  Polycles  the  other  —  to  ask  the  oracle. 

"  This  was  the  answer,  I  have  heard  it  often, 
and  know  it  by  heart :  '  If  the  Athenians 
desire  good  citizens,  let  them  put  whatever  is 
most  beautiful  into  the  ears  of  their  sons.' 

"  Gold  was  the  most  beautiful,  so  after  that  we 


76        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

all  had  ear-rings  of  gold  ;  but  last  summer  I 
heard  Pericles  say  in  the  assembly  that  it  was 
not  ear-rings  of  gold  that  the  oracle  meant,  but 
jewels  of  thought  set  in  golden  words." 

And  now  that  we  are  at  home  again  in 
Athens,  Cleon  will  not  let  us  go  until  we  have 
been  up  to  the  Acropolis  to  see  the  statue  of 
Pallas  Athene,  the  guardian  goddess  of  the  city, 
If  we  had  come  by  sea  we  could  have  seen  the 
crest  of  her  helmet  and  the  point  of  her  spear 
shining  like  gold,  while  we  were  still  man} 
miles  away. 

Every  year  there  is  a  festival  held  in  her 
honor  at  Athens,  but  last  year  it  was  grander 
than  usual  ;  the  third  year  of  each  Olympiad 
being  especially  sacred  to  her. 

The  Athenians  love  her  well.  They  believe 
that  it  is  she  who  made  the  olive-tree  and 
blessed  their  land  with  it,  and  so,  on  the  Acro- 
polis, they  cherish  always  her  sacred  olive-tree, 
and  they  go  to  ask  her  help  in  war  and  in 
peace ;  for  she  can  inspire  their  warriors  to  do 
glorious  deeds,  and  she  has  also  taught  the 
peaceful  arts  of  spinning  and  weaving,  and  all 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  77 

manner  of  industries.  I  think  we  might  call 
her  the  goddess  of  intelligence  or  wisdom. 

In  her  honor  there  are  processions  and 
dances  and  games, — one  race  that  I  should  par- 
ticularly like  to  see,  the  torch-race ;  the  runners 
carry  lighted  torches,  and  the  victor  is  he  who 
reaches  the  goal  with  his  torch  still  alight. 
That  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  do,  I  fancy,  — 
Could  you  do  it  ? 

Cleon  is  still  too  young  for  the  torch  race, 
but  his  brother  Eudexion  took  part  in  it.  He 
ran,  but  he  did  not  win.  Do  you  want  to  know 
who  did  ?  It  was  Daldion,  and  they  were  all 
glad  of  his  success,  for  he  deserved  it,  and 
besides  he  was  an  orphan  ;  and  in  Athens,  if  a 
boy  lost  his  parents,  the  state  became  father 
and  mother  to  him,  and  instead  of  having  only 
one  father  he  had  a  hundred.  So  Daldion  had 
been  brought  up  and  educated  by  the  state,  and 
at  this  festival  of  Pallas  Athene  he  came  of 
age.  It  was  a  grand  celebration  of  his  birth- 
day. He  was  taken  into  the  theatre,  and,  in 
the  presence  of  all  the  people,  clad  in  a  com- 
plete suit  of  armor,  a  gift  from  the  state,  in 


7%        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NO W. 

memory  of  his  brave  father  who  fell  in  battle, 
and  to-day  he  has  quickly  won  renown  by  this 
victory  in  the  race,  and  everybody  rejoices  with 
him. 

He  is  also  expert  in  the  Pyrrhic  dance,  a 
beautiful  stately  dance  with  poised  spear  and 
shield,  the  dancers  moving  to  the  sound  of  mar- 
tial music.  This,  too,  is  a  service  in  honor  of 
the  gods. 

But  we  must  not  linger  too  long  in  Athens  ; 
we  will  only  stay  for  the  naming-day  festival  of 
Cleon's  baby  brother. 

His  father  went,  early  in  the  morning,  to  the 
market  to  hire  cooks  and  to  buy  fish,  for  in 
Athens  fish  is  a  great  delicacy  and  much  prized. 
Skins  of  wine  he  bought,  too,  and  baskets  of 
fruit,  and  garlands  also,  enough  for  all  the 
guests ;  and  he  hired  dancing-girls  and  flute- 
players  for  their  entertainment. 

The  guests  came  in  dresses  of  fine,  white  wool, 
bordered  with  purple  or  scarlet.  Their  hair  was 
curled  and  fastened  with  golden  grasshoppers. 
When  they  came  in,  the  slaves  brought  per- 
fumed waters  for  their  hands,  and  then  set 


THE  STORY  OF  CLEON.  79 

out  tables  with  dishes  and  drinking-cups  of 
silver. 

There  were  roasted  pike,  and  barley-cakes  and 
bread  carried  about  in  baskets,  and  eaten  with 
cheese  from  Sicily,  or  the  honey  of  Hymettus. 
There  were  figs  from  the  island  of  Rhodes,  where 
the  great  Colossus  bestrides  the  harbor  ;  dates 
brought  across  the  sea  from  Egypt,  and  almonds 
and  melons  and  other  fruits. 

Cleon  himself  is  admitted  to  the  dining-room 
for  the  first  time,  because  he  has  honored  him- 
self and  his  family  by  his  victory. 

He  cannot,  of  course,  come  as  the  equal  of 
his  father  and  the  guests.  They  will  recline 
on  the  soft-cushioned  couches,  and  the  slaves 
will  serve  them  ;  while  he  sits  upright  upon  a 
bench  and  listens  in  respectful  silence  to  the 
talk  and  the  music. 

He  does  not  share  the  feast,  but  he  knows 
very  well  that  a  boy  should  not  expect  it ;  and  I 
fancy  he  enjoys  quite  as  well  his  supper  of  pan- 
cakes and  honey,  after  the  dinner  is  over  and 
the  guests  are  gone. 

It   is   night.     Cleon  goes  through  the  court- 


80        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

yard,  passes  between  the  tall  pillars  of  the 
colonnade  to  his  little  bedroom,  and  falls  quickly 
asleep  on  his  bed,  which  is  hardly  more  than  a 
hard  bench.  And  we  —  the  strangers  —  will 
sail  away  to  Italy,  and  up  the  Yellow  Tiber,  to 
Rome. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  STORY  OF  HORATIUS,  THE  ROMAN  BOY, 
WHOSE  ANCESTOR  "KEPT  THE  BRIDGE  SO 
WELL." 


"  And  -wives  still  pray  to  Juno, 

For  boys  with  hearts  as  bold 
As  his  who  kept  the  bridge  so  well  — 
In  the  brave  days  of  old" 

SHALL  we  sail  to  Rome  in  a  trireme  ? 

But  what  is  a  trireme  ?  you  will  ask. 

Look  at  the  picture  at  the  top  of  this  page, 

and  when  you  notice  the  three  rows  of  oars,  you 

will  remember  that  tri  means  three.      Do  you 

see  how  one  rower  must  sit  a  little  behind  as 

81 


82         THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

well  as  above  another,  so  that  the  oars  need  not 
interfere  ?  There  are  little  seats,  in  three  rows, 
fastened  to  the  ship,  inside,  in  just  such  posi- 
tions, for  the  rowers.  And  with  all  these  oars, 
and  perhaps  a  square  sail  if  the  wind  is  fair,  we 
go  pretty  swiftly  over  the  water.  But  a  trireme 
was  a  war  vessel,  and  I  don't  believe  the  Ro- 
mans would  be  willing  to  take  passengers  on  a 
war  vessel.  Nevertheless,  I  think  we  can  go, 
you  and  I,  for  it  isn't  our  bodies,  but  only  our 
minds,  that  have  taken  passage  for  this  voyage, 
and  we  shall  not  occupy  any  room. 

The  trireme  does,  however,  carry  some  pas- 
sengers besides  ourselves,  —  unwilling  passen- 
gers, I  fear, — fair-haired  women  and  young  girls 
and  boys,  prisoners  of  war,  who  are  to  be 
sold  in  the  market-place  (the  Forum)  when  we 
reach  Rome.  Among  them  are  one  or  two 
men,  wise  and  grave  ;  one  of  them,  I  am  sure, 
is  a  writer.  He  has  a  tablet  and  stylus,  such  as 
we  used  to  see  in  Athens.  Some  noble  Roman 
will  perhaps  buy  him  for  a  secretary,  and  em- 
ploy him  to  copy  books,  for  as  yet  there  is  no 
printing,  and  many  men  earn  their  living  by 
writing. 


THE  STORY  OF  HORA  TIUS.  $3 

We  land  and  follow  the  slaves  up  the  sheets 
of  the  city  to  the  Forum,  where  they  are  to  be 
sold.  There  are  vases  and  pictures  and  statues 
also  for  sale  in  this  Forum.  They  have  been 
brought  from  the  Greek  city  of  Corinth,  and 
they  certainly  remind  us  of  the  beautiful  things 
we  saw  when  we  were  in  that  country  with 
Cleon.  Doxius,  the  slave,  also  seems  to  be  a 
Greek,  and  is  probably  a  learned  man. 

Let  us  stand  here  at  one  side  and  watch  the 
buyers,  who  come  wrapped  in  their  togas  of 
white  wool  with  purple  borders. 

In  Rome  you  know  a  man's  rank  by  his 
dress  ;  the  purple  stripes  mean  magistrates  and 
senators.  A  simple  dress  of  white  is  only  for  a 
common  citizen.  The  common  citizens  can't 
afford  to  buy  at  this  market,  so  you  will  not  see 
them  here. 

Here  is  one  tall  man  whose  toga  fairly  drags 
on  the  ground  behind  him,  while  the  heavy  fold, 
that  usually  lies  on  the  left  shoulder,  is  drawn 
up  over  his  head  in  place  of  a  hat.  You  would 
hardly  think  he  could  walk  at  all  in  a  dress  so 
cumbersome,  and  I  am  sure  he  never  runs,  like 


84         THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

the  light-footed  Greeks.  But  while  we  watch 
him,  here  comes  another  man, — a  senator,  I 
know,  by  his  dress,  — and  beside  him  a  boy  wear- 
ing a  long  tunic  with  sleeves,  and  leather  shoes 
with  little  ivory  crescents  on  the  instep.  Next 
year  he  can  wear  a  toga,  but  not  now.  Al- 
though he  is  a  tall,  manly-looking  little  fellow, 
it  would  be  unwarrantable  presumption  for  his 
parents  to  allow  him  the  purple-striped  toga 
before  he  is  thirteen.  This  boy  is  Horatius. 
Horatius  what  ?  do  you  ask? 

Oh,  nothing.  He  hasn't  yet  earned  another 
last  name,  and  he  isn't  old  enough  to  receive  a 
first  name  ;  that  will  come  when  he  changes  his 
boy's  toga  for  a  man's. 

Horatius  is  his  family  name,  and  his  sister, 
who  went,  when  he  was  a  baby,  to  be  a  vestal 
virgin,  has  only  the  name  Horatia.  Don't  for- 
get Horatia,  for  I  shall  let  you  see  her  one  day. 

While  we  are  talking  about  their  names*  the 
father  has  looked  with  keen  eyes  down  the  long 
row  of  slaves.  He  doesn't  want  a  cook,  nor  a 
dancing  girl,  nor  a  lady's  maid,  but  he  does 
want  a  teacher  for  his  boy,  and  a  Greek  teacher 


THE  STORY  OF  HORATIUS.  85 

he  would  prefer  to  any  other.  So  he  stands  for 
a  few  minutes  before  Doxius  ;  talks  with  the 
dealer  about  his  accomplishments,  reads  the  lit- 
tle tablet  that  hangs  from  his  neck,  and  finally 
offers  fifty  pieces  of  gold  for  the  man. 

There  is  some  bargaining  between  them  on 
the  subject,  while  the  young  Horatius  looks 
with  a  sort  of  bashful  curiosity  at  the  man  who 
is  probably  to  be  his  chief  companion  for  some 
years  to  come.  Then  Doxius  is  delivered  over 
to  his  master,  and  follows  him  to  his  home  on 
the  Palatine  hill.  It  is  a  high  house  with 
narrow  windows,  and  as  we  open  the  door  the 
light  falls  into  the  passage-way  and  shows  a 
floor  of  various-colored  marbles.  Do  you  think 
it  pretty  ?  Wait  until  you  reach  the  atrium, — a 
sort  of  open  room  in  the  middle  of  the  house, 
like  the  court  of  Cleon's  home, — and  there  I  will 
show  you  the  handsomest  floor  you  ever  saw. 
Stones  of  lovely  colors  laid  together  to  form  a  pic- 
ture,—  you  would  think  it  painted,  —  of  a  white 
dove  resting  on  a  fountain's  edge,  and  see  even 
the  shadow  of  its  little  head  on  the  water.  The 
dining-room  floor  is  made  to  appear  as  if  strewed 


row. 

skilfully 
jry  well. 


86        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

with  the  remains  of  the  dinner.     It  is 
wrought,  no  doubt,  but  I  don't  like  it  very 
It  is  commonly  called  "  the  unswept." 

The  father  of  Horatius  stops  in  the  atrium  to 
give  some  directions  to  Doxius,  and  then  sum- 
mons another  slave  to  show  him  the  men's 
apartments.  In  the  mean-time  our  boy  stands 
quietly  waiting  beside  a  bronze  statue  which  is 
at  one  side  of  the  family  altar  —  a  statue  of  a 
bold,  hardy  soldier  in  armor,  halting  upon  one 
knee,  as  if  wounded,  and  yet  with  uplifted  sword 
and  an  expression  of  undaunted  courage. 

Of  course  we  all  know  it  is  the  statue  of  Ho- 
ratius "  who  kept  the  bridge  so  well,"  and  we 
can  see  now  that  our  boy  Horatius  is  not  un- 
like him  in  face  and  figure.  I  hope  he  is  also 
as  brave  at  heart. 

There  are  also  other  statues  besides  that  of 
the  brave  ancestors,  —  the  household  gods,  the 
Lares  and  the  Penates ;  they  stand  in  the  atrium, 
and  see,  they  are  decked  with  fresh  violets  and 
garlands  of  rosemary. 

As  Horatius  stands  waiting,  he  looks  up  at 
the  sky,  for  the  middle  part  of  the  atrium  is  un- 


THE  STORY  OF  HORATIUS.  87 

covered,  you  know,  and  he  is  glad  to  see  that  no 
clouds  are  floating  across  the  blue.  He  is  think- 
ing of  to-morrow.  And  what  of  to-morrow? 
Why,  it  is  the  Kalends  of  March,  the  first  day 
of  the  year,  and  he  is  to  go  to  see  his  sister, 
Horatia,  light  the  fire  of  Vesta.  If  the  sun  does 
not  shine  it  cannot  be  done,  for  that  sacred  fire 
must  not  be  lighted  from  anything  less  holy 
than  the  sun  itself.  Horatia  went  when  she 
was  seven  years  old  to  tend  the  sacred  fire  in 
the  temple,  and  to  learn  all  the  holy  services  of 
the  goddess  Vesta.  Ten  years  she  spent  in 
learning  them  before  she  was  ready  to  take  upon 
herself  all  the  sacred  office,  ten  years  more  she 
serves  at  the  altar,  and  then  ten  more  she  will 
still  remain  in  the  temple  to  teach  the  young 
children  who  will  come  as  she  did,  in  order 
that  they  may  take  her  place  when  her  time 
ends. 

-  You  will  like  to  see  her,  and  we  will  go  with 
Horatius  and  his  father  the  next  morning  to  the 
temple  of  Vesta. 

We  go  down  to  the  great  Forum  at  the  foot 
of  the  Palatine  hill,  where  stands  the  round  tern- 


88        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

pie  with  its  many  columns  and  its  small  inner 
cella  or  shrine. 

It  is  the  first  day  of  the  year,  and  not  only 
must  the  sacred  fire  be  newly  lighted  from  the 
sun ;  but  the  temple  must  be  decorated  anew 
with  purifying  laurel,  and  sprinkled  with  the 
water  of  the  holy  spring,  though  this  last,  indeed, 
is  done  every  day  ;  but  also  the  offerings  of  salt 
in  simple  earthen  vessels  will  be  made,  with 
prayers  that  Vesta,  the  goddess  of  the  hearth, 
will  protect  the  hearths  and  homes  of  the 
people. 

And  now  I  must  turn  aside  from  my  story  a 
minute  to  tell  you  of  a  beautiful  thing  that  it  was 
once  given  to  Horatia  to  do.  It  was  like  a  bless- 
ing on  her  whole  life.  One  morning  she  was 
on  her  way  to  the  fountain  of  Egeria  for  the 
water  with  which  to  sprinkle  the  temple.  As 
this  fair,  pure-hearted  young  girl  walked  in  the 
early  morning,  through  the  quiet  street,  in  the 
pure  white  robe  and  veil,  she  met  a  prisoner 
in  chains,  with  bowed  head,  led  away  by  an  of- 
ficer toward  the  prison  at  the  other  side  of  the 
Forum.  At  the  sight  of  her  the  culprit  fell 


THE  STORY  OF  HO  R  ATI  US.  89 

on  his  knees,  and  a  glad  light  came  into  his  up- 
lifted eyes.  Instantly  the  officer  struck  off  his 
chains  and  told  him  that  he  was  free  to  go  where 
he  would  ;  for  the  sight  of  the  Vestal  virgin  had 
saved  him.* 

"But,"  you  will  say,  "perhaps  he  had  done 
something  very  wrong,  and  deserved  the  pun- 
ishment." I  know  it,  perhaps  he  did  ;  but  what 
is  punishment  for?  It  is  to  make  us  better. 
Now,  if  the  man  is  made  really  better,  let  us  be 
thankful  that  it  was  by  the  sight  of  the  pure 
and  good,  rather  than  by  the  stern  and  dreary 
imprisonment.  There  is  severity  and  punish 
ment  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  in  Rome, 
so  we  will  cherish  this  little  glimpse  of  gentle 
ness  and  mercy. 

Now  I  am  going  back  to  the  temple  of  Vesta 
and  the  Kalends  of  March.  The  first  day  of 
the  year,  I  think  I  told  you,  didn't  I  ?  If  you 
will  count  from  March,  you  will  learn  how  Sep- 
tember got  its  name  of  seventh  month,  although 
to  us  it  is  the  ninth. 

*A  convicted  criminal  accidentally  meeting  a  Vestal  was 
released. 


90 


TO 


March 


lr 
' 

7 


•      :         . 
" 


THE  STORY  OF  HO R  ATI  US.  Ql 

watches  over  them  all  for  her  sake.  A  Roman 
maiden  can  serve  the  republic  best  in  this  way, 
as  a  Roman  boy  by  becoming  great  in  the 
Forum  and  the  field. 

Another  festival,  too,  helps  to  celebrate  the 
new  year,  and  it  is  one  that  the  boys  care  more 
for  than  they  do  for  the  vestal  service  ;  at  least 
if  they  haven't  a  sister  among  the  virgins. 

You  will  see  that  processions  of  one  kind  or 
another  were  the  most  common  things  in  Rome. 
To-day  it  is  the  leapers,  or  dancers,  who  bear 
the  twelve  brazen  shields.  Perhaps  you  know 
the  story  how  one  of  these  shields  fell  from 
heaven,  and  was  therefore  peculiarly  sacred, 
and  the  other  eleven  were  made  exactly  like  it, 
so  that  even  the  priests  themselves  can't  tell 
which  is  the  real  and  which  the  imitation.  This 
was  done  that  the  holy  shield  might  not  be 
stolen,  and  indeed  the  twelve  are  kept  with 
the  greatest  care.  Only  once  a  year,  on  the 
Kalends  of  March,  they  are  carried  through  the 
streets  in  a  sort  of  stately  dance ;  and  the  boys, 
who  are  born  soldiers,  delight  to  follow  them. 
But  Horatius  cannot  spend  all  his  time  on  pro- 


92         THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

cessions.  The  Kalendar  has  other  days  besides 
feast-days. 

Do  you  realize  that  there  are  no  weeks  like 
ours  ;  no  Sundays  nor  Mondays,  and  so  on,  but 
at  the  new  moon  the  people  all  go  to  the  capitol 
to  hear  the  priest  announce  the  Kalendar,  or 
list  of  days,  from  this  moon  until  the  next : 
Kalends,  the  first  day  of  the  month,  then  Nones, 
the  fifth  or  seventh,  and  after  that  Ides,  origi- 
nally the  time  of  the  full  rnoon,  coming  on  the 
thirteenth  or  fifteenth  of  the  month. 

But  the  odd  thing  about  this  way  of  reckoning 
time  was  that  they  always  counted  it  backwards ; 
and  when  Horatius  was  a  little  boy  he  used  to 
be  taught  to  call  the  thirty-first  of  December 
the  day  before  the  Kalends  of  January,  and  so 
on.  It  would  be  very  confusing  to  us  ;  but  so 
would  our  weeks  and  days  be  confusing  to  him, 
I  suppose. 

After  the  shield  festival  came  regular  school 
days  until  the  Ides  of  March,  and  Horatius  is 
set  to  work  at  once  by  his  schoolmaster  Doxius. 
He  writes  on  a  waxed  tablet  with  a  stylus,  as 
Cleon  did,  and  he  studies  arithmetic,  — the  mul- 


THE   STORY  OF  HO  RATIOS.  93 

tiplication  table  had  been  by  this  time  invented 
—  and  he  begins  to  learn  the  Greek  language 
and  to  declaim  both  in  his  own  Latin  language 
and  in  Greek.  He  does  not  study  geography ; 
there  are  no  school-books  yet  on  that  subject, 
and  the  few  writers  who  have  told  us  anything 
about  geography  in  those  clays  would  give  you  an 
idea  that  the  world  was  a  circular  plain  lying 
chiefly  about  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  But  if  he 
doesn't  study  geography  he  studies  something 
else  of  more  importance  to  him.  A  well-taught 
Roman  boy  ought  to  know  by  heart  the  twelve 
tables  of  the  law  that  hang  in  the  Forum.  And 
it  isn't  only  in  order  that  he  may  obey  them, 
that  he  learns  them.  He  will  have  to  try  cul- 
prits himself,  very  likely,  or  at  any  rate  plead  at 
the  bar  in  behalf  of  himself  or  his  friend  ;  for 
no  Roman  ever  rises  to  distinction  who  is  not 
capable  of  eloquent  pleading  ;  and  the  honors 
and  offices  of  the  republic  follow  the  silver- 
tongued  orator. 

Before  Horatius  was  seven  years  old,  his 
mother  trained  him  to  speak  always  clearly  and 
well,  and  now  no  day  passes  that  he  does  not 


94        THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

declaim  the  verses  of  the  poets  or  the  speeches 
of  the  senators.  He  goes,  too,  to  the  grammar- 
school,  where  he  is  taught  to  understand  the 
great  authors,  and  to  learn  their  graces  and 
elegances  of  language ;  for  just  as  Cleon  must 
become  a  good  citizen,  so,  too,  must  Horatius. 
He  may,  one  day,  be  chosen  consul;  then  he 
must  be  prepared  to  command  an  army,  or  make 
a  stirring  speech  in  the  Forum.  He  knows  this, 
and  he  wants  to  be  ready  for  it ;  and  although  he 
loves  his  play  as  well  as  you  do,  and  runs  off  to 
his  marbles  or  hoop  or  top  whenever  he  can,  he 
will  gladly  leave  all  other  games  when  Valerius 
and  Julius  call  him  to  join  them  in  playing 
court ;  for  little  Marius  has  consented  to  be 
prisoner,  accused  of  the  crime  of  counterfeiting 
the  public  coin. 

They  have  borrowed  a  black  tunic,  for  Marius 
must  wear  the  dress  of  the  accused,  Julius  will 
be  judge,  and  all  the  boys  of  the  neighborhood 
must  have  their  names  presented,  that  a  jury 
may  be  drawn.  But  when  the  names  are  drawn, 
Marius  objects  to  Scipio,  because  he  has  never 
been  his  friend,  and  by  the  right  of  a  Roman 


THE  STORY  OF  HORATIUS.  95 

citizen  his  objection  is  allowed,  and  another  boy 
drawn. 

And  now  Horatius  is  the  lawyer  who  under- 
takes the  accusation  in  a  bold  speech,  showing 
first  the  evils  arising  to  the  city  from  false  coins, 
and  then  the  shameful  lack  of  patriotism  in  the 
man  who  could  so  injure  his  country,  and  lastly 
relating  all  the  facts  of  this  particular  instance, 
the  crime  of  Cains. 

Then  Valerius  rises  for  the  defence.  He 
cannot  deny  that  the  crime  is  great,  and  if  his 
client  had  committed  it,  he  would  be  worthy  of 
punishment.  "  But  look  at  Marius.  Can  you 
believe  such  a  thing  of  him  ?  " 

Then  he  calls  witnesses  to  testify  to  his  gen- 
eral good  character  and  honesty,  trying  in  every 
way  to  prove  that  he  did  not  commit  the  deed. 

Each  little  orator  pleads  with  all  his  might, 
and  the  crowd  of  boys  applauds,  while  the  grave 
jury  listen  carefully  to  every  word. 

Now  the  jury  must  go  out,  each  one  having 
received  three  little  tablets,  one  guilty,  one  not 
guilty,  the  third  asking  postponement  or  a 
further  trial. 


$6       THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

The  boys  have  no  tablets  ;  but  a  white  pebble, 
a  black  one,  and  a  bit  of  wood  will  serve  in- 
stead. And  while  they  deliberate,  poor  little 
Marius,  who  begins  to  wish  that  he  hadn't 
agreed  to  be  prisoner,  throws  himself  at  their 
feet  to  move  their  compassion.  But  too  much 
compassion  will  spoil  the  play,  and  into  the  box 
the  black  pebbles  go,  which  declare  him  guilty. 
Then  comes  the  sentence  —  the  sentence  of 
banishment,  so  terrible  to  every  Roman  citizen. 

The  little  judge,  Julius,  standing  gravely  be- 
fore them,  pronounces  the,  "  I  forbid  you  the 
use  of  water  or  of  fire  in  the  city  of  Rome." 
And  that,  as  you  plainly  understand,  means  that 
he  can  no  longer  live  in  Rome. 

I  think  you  begin  to  see  where  we  learned 
how  to  conduct  trials,  don't  you  ? 

Then  his  friends  lead  Marius  outside  the  gates, 
and  it  seems  to  have  become  such  terrible  ear- 
nest that  I  am  glad  to  say  it  all  ends  with  a 
grand  race  round  the  Campus  Martius,  and  on 
the  way  home  they  stop  to  spend  a  sesterce  for 
marbles. 
""There  have  been  some  school-days,  and  busy 


THE  STORY  OF  HORATIUS.  97 

ones  too,  and  now  it  is  about  time  for  another 
festival,  —  a  sort  of  Sunday,  when  the  boys  and 
girls  go  in  a  procession  to  the  temple  of  Mi- 
nerva to  pray  for  wisdom  ;  for  she  is  the  wise 
goddess,  and  skilful  in  all  arts,  —  the  same  whom 
the  Athenians  called  Pallas  Athene  ;  and  you 
remember  her  statue  of  gold  and  ivory  on  the 
Acropolis  at  Athens. 

Since  this  is  the  day  when  they  seek  wisdom, 
it  is  also  the  day  when  they  carry  to  their 
teachers  pay  for  instruction,  and  perhaps  a  little 
present  besides.  There  is  a  five  days'  spring 
vacation,  and  then  the  school  work  begins  again. 

Of  course  you  don't  expect  to  hear  about  all 
the  festivals  and  processions  that  followed.  I 
shall  only  tell  you  of  those  in  which  Horatius 
took  some  part  or  had  some  special  interest. 
And  so  we  will  leave  him  at  work  and  at  play 
until  the  Kalends  of  May. 

We  have  May-Day  games  out  in  the  fields 
ourselves.  So  did  he,  though  perhaps  not  on  ex- 
actly the  same  day,  out  in  the  Campus  Martius, 
beyond  the  city  walls.  And  just  as  the  Greeks 
made  a  religious  service  of  their  games,  so  the 


9          THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

Romans  celebrated  these  May-Day  games  in 
honor  of  Jupiter,  Juno,  Apollo,  the  Sun-god, 
Diana,  and  the  Fates. 

But  not  on  every  May-Day  were  such  exten- 
sive games  celebrated,  only  once  in  a  hundred 
years,1  for  so  the  Sibylline  books  directed.  Now, 
if  you  don'tknow  what  the  Sibylline  books  were, 
I  leave  you  to  find  out.  It  is  a  pretty  story, 
and  you  will  like  it,  but  I  haven't  time  to  tell  it. 

Horatius  knew,  —  indeed  he  can't  remember 
the  time  when  he  did  not  know,  as  every  Roman 
boy  ought. 

Well,  the  Sibylline  books  had  directed  the 
celebration  of  these  games  at  the  beginning  of 
every  age, —  and  an  age  was  a  hundred  years,  — 
in  order  that  the  city  should  always  flourish,  and 
should  conquer  all  other  nations ;  and  you  may 
be  sure  the  warlike  Romans  would  neglect 
nothing  that  could  help  to  accomplish  this  their 
greatest  object. 

Since  it  is  not  probable  that  any  man  would 
live  long  enough  to  take  part  in  these  games 

1  Some  old  traditions  make  the  period  1 10  years. 


THE  STORY  OF  HORATIUS.  99 

twice,  the  heralds  proclaim  an  invitation  to  all 
the  world  to  come  on  that  day  to  a  festival 
which  they  had  never  seen  before  and  would 
never  see  again  ;  and  happy  were  the  boys  and 
girls  who  happened  to  be  boys  and  girls  at  that 
time,,  for  there  was  a  part  in  the  games  for  them 
to  perform,  as  indeed  there  was  for  everybody. 

A  few  days  before,  fifteen  officers,  sitting  in 
the  Capitol  and  in  the  Palatine  temple,  distrib- 
uted to  the  people  sulphur  and  other  purifying 
substances,  —  for  all  the  city  must  be  pure  and 
fresh  and  clean  before  approaching  the  gods. 

And  since  these  celebrations  were  so  rare,  I 
will  briefly  tell  you  all  that  was  done.  First 
the  people  all  carried  wheat  and  barley  and 
beans  to  Diana's  temple  on  the  Aventine  Hill, 
and  then  they  passed  whole  nights  in  prayer, 
and  after  this  began  the  three  days  and  three 
nights  of  the  festival  itself. 

On  the  first  night  were  the  sacrifices.  Three 
altars  were  built  beside  the  Tiber,  and  three 
lambs  are  offered  to  the  gods.  Horatius  saw 
them  led  up  to  the  altar  all  wound  about  with 
wreaths  of  leaves,  while  the  white-robed  priest 


100     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

stood  ready  with  his  hand  upon  the  altar  to  offer 
the  prayers. 

At  the  signal  for  prayer  a  great  silence  fell 
upon  the  vast  multitude  in  the  Campus  Mar- 
tius  ;  but,  as  soon  as  the  priest's  voice  was  heard 
beginning  the  prayers,  to  Janus  first,  to  Vesta 
last,  and  to  all  the  gods  of  the  upper  and  lower 
worlds  between,  the  pipers  struck  up  a  loud 
strain  and  continued  it  until  the  prayer  was 
ended. 

What  an  irreverent  thing  to  do  ! 

Oh,  no  ;  it  was  done  lest,  in  the  midst  of  the 
prayer,  any  unlucky  noise  should  be  heard. 

And  now  the  priest  sprinkles  corn,  or  salt,  or 
meal  on  the  head  of  the  lamb,  plucks  a  few 
hairs  from  its  head  and  throws  them  on  the 
altar,  marks  with  his  knife  a  line  from  head  to 
tail,  and  delivers  him  to  the  lower  priests  to  be 
killed.  Then  the  special  parts  for  the  offering 
are  laid  upon  the  fire,  and  the  Augurs,  watching 
them,  see  with  joy  that  the  flames  take  them 
quickly  ;  so  they  know  that  the  gods  accept  the 
offering. 

Next,  in  the  great  theatre  lighted  with  torches 


THE  STORY  OF  HORAI\<tfs:»  ''l&i' 

and  fires,  all  the  people  sing  a  hymn  to  the  gods, 
and  then  begin  their  sports  ;  races,  wrestling, 
throwing  the  spear,  riding,  etc.  They  are  not 
unlike  the  games  that  Cleon  saw  at  Olympia, 
and  indeed,  I  think  the  Romans  learned  them 
from  the  Greeks. 

The  second  day  the  mother  of  Horatius,  and 
also  the  mothers  of  his  friends  Valerius  and 
Julius,  and  many  others,  go  in  procession  to  the 
Capitol  to  sing  hymns  to  Jupiter ;  and  the  last 
day  Horatius  himself  and  twenty-six  of  his  play- 
mates, even  little  Marius  who  played  prisoner, 
and  all  the  boys  who  served  on  the  jury,  to- 
gether with  twenty-seven  little  girls,  go  to  the 
temple  of  the  Palatine  Apollo  and  sing  a  hymn 
that  has  been  written  on  purpose  for  them,  and 
that  they  have  been  practising  for  weeks. 

So  you  see  everybody  has  some  part  in  the 
festival,  since  it  is  for  the  interest  of  all,  — men, 
women,  and  children  —  that  the  city  shall  pros- 
per. And  thus  early  the  boys  learn  that  it  is  also 
their  duty  to  advance  the  grandeur  of  Rome. 

Do  you  notice  how  the  plays  are  a  part  of  the 
religion,  and  the  religion  is  a  part  of  the  plays  ? 


102      'HIE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

That  is  what  struck  me  more  than  anything 
else  about  it. 

The  May  festival  is  over.  The  boys  never 
saw  it  before.  They  will  never  see  it  again, 
and  by  and  by  they  will  be  telling  their  sons 
about  it,  and  saying  to  them,  "  When  you  are  old 
men,  you  may  perhaps  see  the  like  yourselves." 
I  am  glad  we  were  here  just  in  time,  aren't 
you  ? 

Now  the  boys  can  go  ba^ck  to  their  stud- 
ies again.  Horatius  will  take  his  satchel  with 
books  and  writing-tablet,  and  go  to  the  grammar- 
school  every  day,  but  his  best  teaching  is  at  home 
with  Doxius,  who  is  reading  with  him  the  Greek 
poets,  and  who  has  grown  to  love  the  boy  and 
to  be  loved  by  him. 

One  day  his  father  takes  him  to  the  senate  ; 
for  the  consuls  have  decreed  that  a  senator  may 
sometimes  bring  his  son  to  listen  to  the  debates, 
and  learn  to  what  duties  he  will  probably  be 
himself  called. 

Perhaps  you  would  not  care  to  have  me  tell 
all  that  he  hears  and  sees  there ;  but,  on  the 
next  holiday  the  boys  play  senate,  and  we  will 
see  how  they  do  it. 


THE  STORY  OF  HORATIUS.  1 03 

It  wasn't  a  Saturday  afternoon,  but  it  was  on 
some  similar  holiday,  that  Horatius,  and  Valer- 
ius, and  Julius,  and  the  others  played  senate, 
using  the  place  enclosed  by  the  pillars  of  a  por- 
tico for  their  meeting,  and  conducting  the  af- 
fairs of  the  city  as  wisely  as  they  could. 

Horatius  was  consul,  and  he  assembled  his 
senators  and  began  to  ask  their  opinions  on  the 
very  subject  he  had  heard  discussed  when  he 
went  to  the  real  senate  with  his  father. 

"  But  stop,"  said  the  boy,  "  before  we  begin 
let's  see  who  shall  be  tribune,  —  somebody  must 
speak  for  the  plebs.  We  ought  to  vote  and 
choose  a  tribune."  "  Well,"  said  Valerius,  "run 
into  the  potter's  street,  and  round  to  the  corn- 
dealers'  corner,  and  call  in  the  plebeian  boys  to 
a  comitia,  and  we  will  choose  a  tribune  of  the 
people." 

So  they  vote,  and  Calpurnius  is  chosen  tri- 
bune. 

"Now,"  said  Horatius  to  him,  "when  Julius 
makes  his  long  speech,  and  we  are  going  to  vote 
that  the  treasures  of  Attalus  shall  go  into  the 
public  treasury,  you  must  stand  up  and  say, 


104      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

X*  Vet£/  and  that  will  stop  us,  and  then  you  can  pro- 
pose  to  have  them  divided  for. the  poor  plebeians." 

So  the  boys  played  senate  and  practised  the 
art  of  governing.  Many  a  time  they  sent  out  a 
consul  at  the  head  of  a  little  army,  and  brought 
him  home  in  triumph. 

The  Ides  of  Quintilis  had  passed  ( can  you 
tell  what  time  that  is  by  our  reckoning  ?),  and, 
the  knights  in  purple,  with  their  olive  crowns, 
had  ridden  in  a  gay  procession  to  the  temple  of 
Castor  and  Pollux  ;  and  now  it  was  just  at  the 
harvest  time  that  one  of  the  boys'  plays  became 
earnest,  for  Scipio  came  home  from  Spain, 
bringing  treasures  and  captives,  and  he  was  de- 
creed a  triumph  and  a  crown. 

We  will  stand  with  the  boys  in  the  crowded 
streets,  or  on  the  platform  if  we  can  get  a  place, 
and  see  it. 

The  great  procession  is  marshalled  outside 
the  gates,  and  starts  from  the  Campus  Martius, 
where  we  went  together  on  May  Day,  you  re- 
member. 

As  it  enters  the  city  gate,  where  the  magis- 
trates meet  it,  we  shall  hear  the  trumpets  sound 


H 

0> 

g- 

g 

f 


THE  STORY  OF  HO  R  ATI  US.  105 

a  charge,  and  we  shall  be  ready  to  shout  with 
the  people  "  lo  triomphe,"  as  the  head  of  the 
column  appears  in  the  Via  Sacra  (sacred  street). 
First  the  lictors  to  clear  the  way,  then  the  trum- 
peters, then  the  victims  for  sacrifice  —  the  oxen 
with  gilded  horns  and  oak  wreaths.  Next  look 
at  the  wagons  full  of  spoils,  treasures  of  armor, 
cups  of  gold  and  silver,  costly  cloths  and  purple 
robes.  Then  come  the  poor  captives,  fathers, 
mothers,  and  even  little  children,  to  be  made  a 
show  for  the  honor  of  the  conqueror. 

And  now  everybody  crowds  forward,  for  here 
is  the  General  himself,  sitting  in  his  chariot  and 
wearing  the  toga  picta,  a  purple  dress  embroi- 
dered all  over  with  gold,  and  the  tunica  palmata 
wrought  with  palm  branches.  See  the  laurel 
branch  in  one  hand,  and  the  victorious  eagle  on 
the  sceptre  in  the  other.  His  laurel  crown  of 
triumph  is  held  above  his  head,  and  all  the 
knights  and  soldiers  follow  him  with  laurel 
boughs. 

Look  there  is  a  soldier  with  the  civic  crown 
of  oak  leaves.  We  will  all  shout  for  him,  for  he 
has  saved  the  life  of  a  Roman  citizen  in  battle. 


£06     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  Abu  TO  NOW 

And  here  comes  Caius  Cossus  with  his  mural 
crown  like  a  little  turreted  wall.  That  means 
that  he  was  the  first  to  scale  the  walls  of  the 
besieged  city.  And  there  is  many  a  chain  of 
gold  and  medal  to  be  seen  as  we  look  down  the 
long  ranks. 

Through  the  Via  Sacra,  then  across  the  Forum, 
and  up  the  Capitoline  Hill  to  the  Temple  of 
Jupiter,  already  gloriously  decorated  with  the 
spoils  of  many  wars.  And  there  the  General 
lays  his  crown  in  the  lap  of  the  great  statue,  the 
sacrifice  is  offered,  and  a  long  day  of  splendors 
is  over. 

The  boys  have  followed  every  step  of  the  way, 
but  they  aren't  at  all  tired,  —  oh  no  !  —  still  their 
supper  of  bread  and  honey  does  taste  good,  and 
they  even  wish  that  they  might  also  have  a  bit 
of  the  roasted  pig  that  is  carried  into  the  dining- 
room  where  the  father  entertains  his  friends  in 
honor  of  the  day. 

The  next  day,  while  the  boys  are  at  play,  we 
may  overhear  Valerius  telling  a  story  he  has 
heard  from  his  father,  of  a  triumph  long  ago, 
that  ended  in  the  founding  of  a  temple  to  Castor 


THE  STORY  OF  HORATIUS.  10? 

and  Pollux,  who  had  given  victory  to  the  Romans. 
"The  boys  helped  found  that  temple,  and  the 
girls  too,"  said  Publius.  "  I  wish  they  would 
build  one  now,  then  we  could  go  to  sprinkle  the 
place  with  brook  water,  river  water,  arTd  spring 
water.  And  then  we  could  take  hold  of  the 
ropes  and  help  pull  the  first  great  stone  into 
place." 

"  My  grandfather  threw  gold  and  silver  in 
with  the  first  stone  of  that  temple."  cried  Julius, 
"And  so  did  mine,"  said  Horatius. 

But  time  goes  on,  and  our  Roman  year  is 
drawing  to  a  close. 

Early  in  December  tbe  father  of  little  Vale- 
rius dies,  and  his  funeral  is  celebrated  with 
orations,  and  with  shows  of  gladiators  and  wild 
beasts  in  the  Forum  and  the  Circus.  These 
gladiators  are  Gauls  and  Germans — barbarians 
the  Romans  call  them  —  taken  in  war  and  trained 
to  fight  with  each  other  or  with  beasts  for  the 
amusement  of  the  people.  You  will  hear  more 
of  such  barbarians  by  and  by,  if  you  read  my 
next  chapter. 

Do  you  begin  to  think  that  there  is  nothing 


IO8      TtfE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

but  fighting  in  Rome  ?  If  you  do  you  will  be 
more  than  half  right.  But  we  are  coming  now 
to  a  real,  merry,  happy  time. 

Pernaps  you  have  guessed  what  it  is,  for  you 
know  I  said  it  was  already  December.  Don't 
you  believe  it  is  Christmas  ?  It  is,  at  any  rate, 
in  December,  and  would  be  just  about  our 
Christmas  time.  But  it  wasn't  Christmas  after 
all,  and  why  ? 

Where  do  we  get  the  name  Christmas  ? 
"  From  the  name  Christ,"  you  will  answer. 
And  do  you  realize  that  when  Horatius  was  a 
boy  it  was  more  than  a  hundred  years  before 
the  birth  of  Christ,  so  you  see  it  couldn't  be 
Christmas,  and  yet  what  games  they  had,  what 
presents  to  each  and  all.  How  the  servants 
were  allowed  to  be  equal  with  their  masters  and 
mistresses,  and  it  seemed  the  right  of  every 
one  to  be  merry. 

They  called  it  Saturnalia ;  but  I  don't  care 
what  name  it  had,  —  it  certainly  had  a  delightful 
Christmas  feeling  about  it. 

The  poor  people  had  gifts  of  corn  and  oil  and 
honey,  which  meant  bread  and  butter  and  sugar, 


THE  STORY  OF  HORATIUS. 

(you  know  they  had  never  heard  of  sugar  in 
those  days).  And  the  boys  had  new  tunics  and 
new  shoes.  They  wore  neither  stockings  nor 
trousers. 

Baskets  of  figs  and  nuts  and  pomegranates 
and  apples  were  sent  from  friend  to  friend. 
And  here  comes  a  slave  to  the  door,  bringing  to 
the  father  of  Horatius  a  beautiful  set  of  marble 
chess-men,  a  present  from  his  friend  Valerius, 
and  with  it  a  letter  full  of  kind  greetings  and 
good  wishes.  Not  a  letter  written  on  paper,  but 
on  two  waxed  tablets  tied  together  and  the 
string  sealed  with  a  bit  of  wax.  After  he  has 
read  it,  he  can  rub  it  out  and  write  an  answer 
on  the  same  tablet. 

In  the  home  of  Horatius,  and  perhaps  in 
many  another  besides,  a  good  deed  was  done 
that  made  that  Christmas  Day  memorable. 

All  the  year  the  father  of  Horatius  had 
noticed  how  faithfully  and  well  the  Greek  slave 
Doxius  had  watched  over  and  instructed  his 
son,  and  he  has  resolved  to  give  him,  on  the 
Saturnalia,  the  very  best  gift  that  he  can. 

Do  you  guess  what  ? 


IIO     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

If  you  can't,  come  with  us  before  the  magis- 
trate, and  see  the  glad  face  of  Doxius  when 
his  master  lays  a  hand  upon  his  head  and  says 

"This  man  I  will  to  be  free." 

Then  the  slave  passed  out  from  under  the 
hand  of  his  master,  and  next  from  the  rod  of  the 
praetor,  and  became  a  freed  man,  and  put  on 
the  cap  and  the- toga. 

His  master  goes  home  to  hang  a  chain  upon 
the  household  Lar  in  honor  of  this  act,  and  Dox- 
ius himself  comes  back  to  continue  his  teaching, 
though  he  feels  like  a  different  man,  master 
now  of  himself. 

Of  course  the  boys  are  having  a  vacation,  and 
perhaps  we  owe  the  custom  of  our  Christmas 
holidays  to  them.  Theirs  even  reached  as  far 
as  New  Year's  Day,  though  it  was  not  New 
Year,  but  only  the  Kalends  of  January.  Yet  it 
was  the  day  when  new  magistrate  came  into 
office,  and  a  day  for  giving  presents.  And  since 
January  is  named  for  Janus,  it  must  of  course 
have  a  festival  day  for  its  god. 

The  boys  have  been  very  busy  practising  for 
a  grand  performance  on  this  day.  It  is  called  the 


THE  STORY  OF  HO  R  ATI  US.  III. 

"Game  of  Troy."  Nobody  can  join  in  it  but  the 
sons  of  magistrates.  Horatius  is  going,  and 
Valerius  and  Julius  and  thirty-six  others ;  but 
the  sons  of  the  potter  and  the  scythe-maker  and 
the  armorer  and  the  weaver  are  not  allowed ; 
their  fathers  used  to  be  slaves,  are  now  only 
freed  men  ;  some  of  them  are  the  clients  or  de- 
pendents of  the  father  of  Horatius.  The  boys 
who  have  the  privilege  think  it  a  great  honor 
to  take  part  in  this  play. 

There  is  a  fine  old  poem  which  you  will  per- 
haps read  some  day  in  Latin,  that  tells  us  all 
about  this  Game  of  Troy.  It  is  in  fact  a 
mimic  battle  not  unlike  the  tournaments  of 
after-years. 

There  are  to  be  three  captains,  each  with  his 
band  of  twelve  boys.  They  will  perform  in  the 
great  circus,  and  all  the  city  will  come  to  see. 

How  they  have  practised  and  drilled.  They 
had  to  train  their  horses  as  well  as  themselves, 
for  there  is  to  be  a  cavalry  charge,  a  pretended 
flight,  then  a  sudden  wheel-about  upon  the  pur- 
suing enemy  and  a  grand  discharge  of  arrows  to 
drive  them  back,  and  last  of  all,  a  sort  of  curious, 


1 12      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

mazy  dance  on  horseback  in  and  out,  back  and 
forward  —  until  the  spectators  see  nothing  but  a 
mingled  mass  of  thirty-nine  boys  and  thirty- 
nine  horses  ;  and  then  at  a  word,  as  if  by  magic, 
the  little  commander,  Julius,  brings  them  unto 
close  and  orderly  ranks  before  the  consuls,  and 
the  great  circus  echoes  with  applause. 

It  is  a  great  day  for  Roman  boys.  Wouldn't 
you  like  to  be  there  to  see  ? 

Horatius  isn't  a  captain,  —  indeed  he  is  the 
youngest  boy  there,  and  of  course  takes  the 
lowest  place  ;  but  he  did  his  part  well,  rode  his 
white  horse  handsomely,  and  looked  like  a 
gallant  little  soldier  in  his  purple  tunic  with  his 
golden  bulla  hanging  on  his  breast,  and  his 
bright  quiver  of  arrows  over  his  shoulder. 

Doxius  had  trained  him  carefully,  that  he 
might  set  erect  and  hold  up  his  head  gracefully, 
even  if  his  horse  did  prance  and  curvet  when 
the  trumpet  sounded  for  the  game  to  begin. 

Besides  the  boys'  Game  of  Troy,  there  was,  of 
course,  a  procession  and  a  sacrifice. 

Then  followed  more  school-days,  and  plays 
outside  the  walls,  under  the  arches  of  the  great 


THE   STORY  OF  HORATIUS  !I3 

aqueduct,  which  were  good  places  for  forums  or 
circuses  ;  and  then  we  reach  the  Ides  of  Febru- 
ary, the  feast  of  Lupercus,  or  Pan. 

This  time  I  will  ask  you  how  we  shall  cele- 
brate it,  for  now  you  have  lived  here  long 
enough  to  know. 

"  A  sacrifice  and  a  procession,"  did  you  say  ? 

Certainly,  you  are  right ;  but  there  were  some 
odd  things  about  this  festival  that  I  think  I 
must  tell  you. 

Perhaps  you  know  that  Pan  was  the  god  of 
the  shepherds.  If  you  have  seen  pictures  of 
him,  you  must  remember  that  he  has  goat's  feet. 
So  a  goat  was  the  sacrifice  offered,  and  with  it 
a  dog,  because  of  the  sheep-dogs  that  the  shep- 
herds always  have. 

It  was  an  old,  old  custom,  brought  into  Rome 
from  some  more  distant  time  and  place  —  from 
Greece,  perhaps,  —  and  as  Horatius  is  to  take 
part  in  it,  you  will  see  how  curious  it  is. 

He  has  been  chosen,  with  his  friend  Valerius, 
to  join  in  the  sacrifice  ;  so  the  two  boys  stand 
beside  the  priests,  and  when  the  poor  animals 
are  killed,  a  priest  smears  the  boys'  foreheads 


1 14      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

with  the  bloody  knife,  and  immediately  another 
wipes  off  the  blood  with  a  flock  of  wool  dipped 
in  milk.  Then  the  boys  must  laugh,  whether 
they  feel  like  laughing,  or  not. 

As  Horatius  comes  home  to  his  father's  house 
on  the  beautiful  hill,  he  passes  a  band  of  Ger- 
man gladiators  returning  from  the  amphitheatre, 
carrying  with  them  a  comrade  badly  wounded  in 
the  fight.  They  have  angry  faces,  and  I  do  not 
wonder,  do  you  ?  It  is  not  a  manly  nor  kindly 
thing  that  they  should  be  made  to  hurt  or  kill 
each  other  as  an  amusement  for  the  Romans. 

Do  you  begin  now  to  realize  how  the  Romans, 
and  the  Greeks  too,  and  the  Persians,  are  show- 
ing us  the  homes  of  our  great,  great,  great- 
grandfathers ? 

And  where  shall  we  go  next  ? 

To  no  rich  city,  with  temples  and  palaces 
and  grand  processions,  but  to  a  rough,  wild 
country,  with  scattered  villages,  great  forests, 
and  hordes  of  half-savage  warriors ;  and  there 
we  shall  find  Wulf,  the  Saxon  boy. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE   STORY    OF    WULF,  THE    SAXON  BOY,  WHO 
HELPED   TO   MAKE   ENGLAND. 

"  It  is  only  the  coward  who  thinks  he  shall  live  forever" 

"  I  DARE  you  to  run  as  far  as  the  eagle  tree," 
cried  Ella,  and  the  two  boys  started,  bow  in 
hand  and  quiver  upon  shoulder,  for  a  race  to- 
wards the  forest. 

The  wind  blew  their  fair  hair  back  from  their 
faces,  and  their  flowing  curls  floated  on  the 
breeze  ;  for  Wulf  and  Ella  were  Saxon  boys, 
sons  of  freemen  ;  and  their  long  hair,  —  the 
sign  of  their  free  birth,  —  had  never  been  cut. 


1 1 6      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO   TO  NOW. 

They  soon  left  the  village  behind  them,  and 
neared  the  gloomy  forest,  the  mark  land,  that 
spread  like  a  broad  belt  around  every  Saxon  vil- 
lage, —  a  mark,  or  boundary,  between  neighbor 
and  neighbor,  as  well  as  between  enemies. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  forest  the  boys 
stopped  to  take  breath,  and  Wulf  threw  down 
his  bow  and  stooped  to  tighten  the  woollen 
straps  that,  crossed  and  recrossed  about  his  legs, 
bound  his  gaiters  firmly  on. 

Jhe  race  had  loosened  one  of  them,  and  be- 
fore the  final  start  for  the  eagle's  tree,  Wulf 
would  make  sure  that  no  such  trifle  as  a  loosened 
strap  should  hinder  him  from  winning. 

"  Ready  !  "  they  both  shouted,  and,  tossing 
back  their  hair,  away  they  went,  like  arrows  from 
the  bow,  away  into  the  deep,  dark  forest.  As 
they  went  on  they  became  silent,  and  when  they 
reached  the  great  beech-tree,  rudely  carved  with 
a  picture  of  an  eagle,  they  did  not  shout,  but 
Wulf,  who  reached  it  half  a  minute  sooner  than 
his  companion,  paused  for  an  instant  under  the 
broad  branches,  and  thus  assuring  himself  that 
his  companion  recognized  him  as  victor,  turned 


THE  STORY  OF  WULF.  1 17 

his  face  towards  the  village  again;  for  no  one 
would  linger  long  near  the  mark  tree,  for  it  was 
a  sacred  spot  which  marked  the  boundary  be- 
tween two  villages,  always  to  be  treated  with 
respect,  and  almost  with  awe,  by  the  people. 
Whoever  stepped  over  his  neighbor's  mark 
must  do  it  at  his  peril.  So  the  boys  had  shown 
not  a  little  daring  in  choosing  the  eagle's  tree 
as  their  goal,  and  no  wonder  they  did  not  care 
to  remain  under  its  shade. 

As  they  tramped  along  homeward  through 
the  rough  forest  path,  they  heard  the  crackling 
of  brushwood  on  their  right,  and  a  herd  of  pigs, 
guarded  by  a  boy  about  twelve  years  old,  broke 
across  the  foot-way. 

The  swineherd  was  a  half-naked  boy  dressed 
only  in  a  tunic  or  jacket  of  skin  reaching  nearly 
to  his  knees,  and  he  Jiad  a  metal  ring  around 
his  neck.  This  ring  was  not  a  collar  or  neck- 
lace worn  as  an  ornament.  It  fitted  so  tightly 
that  it  could  not  be  taken  off.  It  must  have 
been  soldered  on  and  was  meant  to  stay.  It 
was  marked,  as  a  dog's  collar  is,  with  his  mas- 
ter's mark  or  sign,  for  this  boy  was  a  slave  01 
serf. 


1 1 8      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

His  hair,  which  was  closely  cropped,  was  less 
fair  than  the  long  locks  of  Wulf  and  Ella,  and 
he  carried  no  bow  and  arrows,  as  the  other  boys 
did. 

The  two  boys  greeted  him  in  a  friendly  way. 

"  Do  the  swine  feed  well  here  ? "  asked  Wulf. 

"  Yes,  on  the  best  of  beech-nuts  and  acorns, 
but  they  will  stray  towards  the  mark  tree,  and 
lead  me  where  great  Grendel,  the  man-eater, 
may  find  me." 

"  But  Grendel  belongs  yonder,  away  over  the 
mountains,"  said  Ella. 

"Nay,  but  he  is  a  mighty  stepper  over  the 
mark,"  said  the  swineherd,  shaking  his  head 
ominously.  "There  is  no  knowing  when  he  may 
eome,  nor  where." 

"'  Don't  be  a  coward,  Uffen,"  cried  Wulf.  "As 
soon  as  Grendel  steps  over  the  mark,  he  must 
blow  his  horn,  and  that  will  give  you  time  to 
prepare  to  meet  him." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  muttered  Uffen,  "  you  may  well 
say  so.  With  what  shall  I  meet  him  ?  A  thrall 
has  no  arms." 

"I  will  defend  you,"  said  Wulf;  "my  grand- 


THE  STORY  OF  WULF. 

father's  thrall  shall  not  fail  of  a  gallant  pro- 
tector;" and  he  looked  to  his  bow-string,  and, 
drawing  an  arrow  to  the  head,  faced  the  gloomy 
forest  with  the  air  of  an  earl's  son. 

"  I  trust  my  sword,  I  trust  my  steed, 
But  most  I  trust  myself,  at  need," 

sang  Ella  laughingly,  but  he  also  gave  a  loving 
look  of  admiration  at  his  young  cousin,  who  was 
to  be  the  head  of  the  family  by  and  by,  and 
whose  loyal  companion  he  was  destined  to  be. 

Just  at  this  instant,  as  if  to  test  their  courage, 
the  blast  of  a  horn  rang  out  loud  and  clear  from 
the  forest. 

"It  is  Grendel  himself,"  whispered  the  swine- 
herd. 

"  Nonsense  \ "  cried  the  keen-eyed  Wulf,  "use 
your  eyes,  man,  and  see  the  earldorman's  mes- 
senger already  taking  the  path  to  the  moot 
hill. 

The  moot  hill  was  a  low  rounded  hill  just 
outside  the  village,  where  the  free  mark-men  or 
land-holders  met  once  a  month  to  hold  their 
moot  court  and  deal  out  justice  to  all  men,  and 
settle  all  affairs  that  needed  not  to  go  up  to  the 


I2O     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

great  witangemot,  or  meeting  of  the  wise  men 
of  the  nation. 

Within  the  circle  of  the  moot  court  the  boys 
could  not  enter,  but  they  loved  to  seat  them- 
selves on  rock  or  tree-trunk  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill,  and  listen  to  the  clash  of  arms  by  which  the 
men  gave  their  assent  to  any  proposal  of  the 
earldormen,  and  gather  from  some  old  man  too 
lame  and  weary  to  climb  the  hill,  such  tales  and 
old  songs  as  all  boys  in  all  countries  and  all 
times  love  to  hear. 

So  Ella  and  Wulf  left  the  swineherd  to  his 
beech-nuts  and  acorns,  and  tried  another  race 
to  the  foot  of  the  moot  hill. 

They  were  just  in  time  to  see  the  earldorman's 
messenger  welcomed  by  Erkennin,  the  stately 
grandfather  of  young  Wulf,  and  they  seated 
themselves  on  a  mossy  rock  to  wait  for  the  end 
of  the  meeting. 

Presently  old  Elric  came  slowly  down  the  hill. 
His  long  white  hair  flowed  over  his  shoulders, 
and  his  blue  eyes  looked  brightly  out  from  under 
shaggy  eyebrows.  Many  a  scar  marked  his 
rugged  face  and  bare  arms  and  hands,  but  he 


THE  STORY  OF    WULF.  121 

held  his  head  proudly  yet,  though  the  spear 
sometimes  trembled  in  his  stiffening  hands. 

The  seax  —  a  short,  hooked  broadsword  or 
dagger,  from  which  some  writers  tell  us  the 
Saxons  derived  their  name  —  hung  from  his 
girdle,  and  indeed  he  was  a  fine  figure  of  an  old 
warrior. 

As  he  met  the  lads,  a  smile  lighted  his  rugged 
face.  He  was  fond,  in  his  rough  way,  of  the 
young  Wolf 's  cub  and  his  friend,  and  was  quite 
willing  to  give  them  a  bit  of  wisdom  now  and 
then  from  his  eighty  years  store  of  it. 

"  It  is  a  good  day  for  news,"  he  said.  "  And 
for  such  news  as  comes  to-day,  most  truly  it  is 
good." 

"  Why  so,  father  Elric  ?  "  asked  young  Wult. 

"  It  is  the  day  of  our  father  Woden,  the  mover 
(Wodensday,  Wednesday).  To-day  we  divide 
the  land  anew,  that  no  man  may  become  so  at- 
tached to  his  fields  that  he  will  not  be  ready  to 
go  out  to  new  conquests ;  for  it  is  weak  and  un- 
manly to  gain  by  sweat  what  you  can  win  by 
blood." 

"  The  blood  of  Woden  flows  in  your  veins, 


122      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO   TO  NOW. 

young  Wulf,  and  it  is  time  now  that  you  should 
be  going  out  to  conquer  new  lands." 

"  But  why  is  this  a  good  day  for  news,  and 
what  news  ?  "  eagerly  asked  the  boy  again. 

"  It  is  news  that  may  concern  you,"  answered 
the  old  man,  "  if  you  are  the  boy  I  take  you  to 
be.  But  your  grandfather  is  the  one  who  will 
tell  it  you.  Wait  until  the  moot  court  breaks 
up,  and  you  will  hear." 

"  Tell  us  about  the  other  days,  father  Elric," 
said  Ella. 

"  I  know  Thor's  day  (Thursday),"  cried  Wulf, 
"  the  day  when  the  Thunderer  lets  fly  his  strong 
hammer  at  his  foes." 

"  And  Tuesday  is  Tyr's  day.  I  count  him  the 
bravest  of  them  all,"  continued  old  Elric. 

"Why  bravest  ?  "  asked  the  boys. 

"  Because  he  put  his  right  hand  in  the  wolf 
Fenrir's  mouth  as  a  hostage,  while  the  gods 
chained  him.  And  he  did  it  knowing  that  when 
the  chain  proved  too  strong  to  be  broken,  Fen- 
rir  would  bite  his  hand  off.  That  was  brave, 
the  one-handed  god  is  he  whom  I  worship.  I 
was  born  on  his  day." 


THE  STORY  OF   WULF.  123 

"  But  see  the  court  is  breaking  up,  I  must  be 
going,  and  you  too,  my  lads.  Farewell,  young 
Wolf 's  cub,  don't  forget  the  race  that  bred  you. 
You  should  be  following  the  swan-road  in  a 
good  war-keel  before  many  winters  more  pass 
over  your  head." 

"  There  are  only  three  very  brave  days,"  said 
Wulf  to  Ella,  as  they  threw  their  arms  over  each 
other's  shoulders,  and  strode  down  towards  the 
village,  looking  and  feeling  as  much  like  war- 
riors as  they  could.  "  I  shall  take  Wodensday 
for  mine.  Sunday  is  the  sun's,  Monday  the 
moon's,  Friday  belongs  to  the  smiling,  gentle 
Friga,  and  Saturday  is  Seater's,  and  brings  peace 
and  plenty.  But  I  say  war  and  plenty  for  me." 

Nearing  the  scattered  houses  of  the  village, 
the  boys  separated,  and  Wulf  took  his  way 
towards  the  home  of  his  grandfather. 

The  house  was  made  of  thick  posts  or  logs, 
joined  together  by  boards;  and  in  the  turf -cov- 
ered roof  was  a  hole  which  served  as  a  chimney. 
The  door-posts  were  carved  with  strange  char- 
acters. The  boy  could  not  read  them.  They 
were  runes,  and  protected  the  household  from 


124      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

harm  ;  for  gods  could  understand  the  runes,  and 
men  would  fear  the  sacred  words  and  respect 
them. 

Wulf  found  his  mother  spinning  beside  the 
door.  She  had  a  welcome  in  her  eyes  for  him 
as  she  stood  at  her  rude  wheel  and  drew  out  the 
woollen  thread  between  her  fingers. 

"Thy  grandfather  has  news  for  thee,"  she 
said. 

"What  is  it,  mother,"  cried  the  boy, ,"  am  I 
going  to  war  ?  I  am  twelve  years  old,  you 
know,  and  I  have  proved  my  strength  already 
in  fight." 

The  mother  looked  at  him  proudly.  "You 
are  like  Sigebert,  your  father,"  she  said.  "  It  is 
well  that  you  were  born  in  camp,  and  cradled  on 
a  shield.  You  were  but  a  baby  when  your  father 
was  brought  home  dead,  covered  with  wounds, 
crowned  with  honor,  and  you  did  not  shriek  and 
cry  when  I  laid  you  on  his  breast,  and  said  to 
you,  '  It  is  for  women  to  weep,  for  men  to  re- 
member.' " 

"  Yes,  mother,"  answered  the  boy  gravely,  "  I 
remember." 


THE  STORY  OF   VVULF.  12$ 

"  Go  in  to  thy  grandfather,  now,"  said  the 
mother.  "  He  will  tell  thee  the  news." 

Old  Erkennin  had  returned  from  the  moot 
court,  and  sat  before  the  smouldering  fire.  An 
old  man  with  shaggy  locks  and  keen  eyes.  He 
wore  a  woollen  cloak  or  sagum  fastened  with  a 
long  thorn,  and  his  tall  spear  stood  in  the  cor- 
ner within  reach  of  his  hand. 

The  boy  stood  beside  him,  and  the  afternoon 
light  streaming  in  at  the  open  door  —  for  win- 
dow there  was  none  —  shone  on  his  yellow  hair 
and  bright,  young  face. 

"  Thy  uncles,  Hengist  and  Horsa,  have  been 
out  upon  the  seas,"  he  said.  "  The  swan-read  is 
ever  the  road  to  glory.  They  send  news  that 
the  British  shore  is  open  to  conquest.  The 
wild  Picts  are  swarming  down  upon  the  Britons, 
and  it  is  a  fine  chance  to  go  in,  sword  in  hand, 
and  the  land  shall  be  ours.  Will  you  go  with 
your  uncles,  my  boy  ?  " 

The  boy  sprang  high  in  the  air  with  a  shout 
of  delight. 

"  Will  I  go,  grandfather  ?  I  will  go,  and  not 
come  back  till  I  have  won  new  lands  with  my 


126      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

sword.  My  sword!  may  I  have  one  now.  I 
have  been  longing  for  it,  grandfather.  May  I 
have  it  ?  " 

"  Your  father  went  gayer  into  a  fight  than 
ever  he  did  to  a  feast,  and  you  are  his  own  son," 
said  the  old  man  proudly. 

"  To-morrow  at  sunrise  we  will  try  the  omens, 
and,  if  the  gods  will  it,  you  shall  go." 

The  next  morning,  at  sunrise,  fresh  twigs  are 
cut  from  a  tree,  marked,  and  solemnly  strewed 
upon  a  white  cloth.  Then  old  Erkennin,  with 
invocation  to  Woden  and  the  Fates,  reaches  out 
his  hand  and,  picking  up  a  twig,  interprets  the 
sign  upon  it. 

"  You  will  go,  my  boy,"  he  says  joyfully.  "  Go, 
and  be  a  conqueror  and  a  king.  May  the  shield- 
maidens  stand  beside  you  in  battle,  and  may 
your  weird  weave  for  you  such  a  web  as  befits  a 
noble  youth.  Remember  that  death  is  better 
for  any  man  than  a  life  of  shame.  It  is  only  a 
coward  who  thinks  he  shall  live  forever.". 

So,  in  the  presence  of  the  freemen  of  the 
village,  Wulf  is  equipped  with  shield  and  javelin; 
and  his  grandfather  says  to  him,  — 


THE  STORY  OF   WULF.  12? 

"  Now  you  are  no  longer  a  part  of  my  house- 
hold, a  child  in  your  father's  home ;  you  are  a 
Saxon,  a  warrior.  It  may  for  some  brief  time 
be  your  lot  to  till  the  ground,  and,  if  it  be  so, 
may  our  mother  Hert'na  be  good  to  you,  and 
grant  you  plentiful  harvests.  It  may  be  that, 
for  a  time,  you  shall  gather  fish  from  the  sea, 
and  seek  the  whale  in  the  north,  or  the  gan- 
net  among  the  rocks  ;  but  the  chief  duty  of  a 
man  is  to  fight,  and  so  to  fight  that  no  man 
can  ever  say  '  niding '  (coward)  to  him.  Be  al- 
ways ready  to  attack  one  enemy  ;  to  face  two  ; 
to  retire  only  one  step  back  from  three ;  and 
never  to  retreat  from  less  than  four." 

And  then  young  Wulf  joins  the  brave  com- 
panions who  are  to  meet  Hengist,  and  sail  for 
the  "  Saxon  shore  "  of  Britain. 

It  is  a  two  days'  march  through  fen  and  forest 
to  the  sea-shore,  where  three  keels  await  them. 
Long  flat-bottomed  boats,  their  oaken  boards 
fastened  together  with  ropes  of  bark  and  iron 
bolts.  Fifty  oars  and  fifty  pairs  of  strong  arms 
drive  each  war-keel  over  the  waves,  and  the 
white-horse  banner  floats  over  the  horde  of  fierce 
warriors  crowded  upon  their  decks. 


128      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

Wulf  is  counted  a  "  companion  "  of  his  uncle. 
He  sits  with  him  at  meat,  and  listens  with  rap- 
ture to  the  bold  tales  of  sea-robbery  and  battle  ; 
for  Hengist  has  met  Roman  legions  and  long- 
haired Gauls  as  well  as  Britons. 

"  The  Britons  are  weak,"  he  said  one  day, 
"  They  are  herding  together  in  cities,  no  man 
dares  to  live  alone  in  his  own  home,  surrounded 
by  his  own  fields.  They  are  cowards.  If  we 
had  them  in  our  Saxon  land,  we  should  bury 
them  in  the  mud,  and  cover  them  with  hurdles, 
that  no  one  might  see  their  shame.  Their 
priests  teach  them  to  read  and  to  sing ;  they 
are  making  clerks  of  them.  They  will  never 
own  the  land  if  they  waste  their  lives  in  read- 
ing." 

"  But  the  singing  is  good,"  said  young  Ida, 
whose  name  signified  flame,  as  he  stood  near, 
sharpening  his  sword. 

"  No,  the  singing  is  not  good.  They  have  no 
battle-songs.  They  sing  dirges  for  the  dead, 
and  hymns.  I  want  no  such  songs,"  shouted 
Hengist,  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  sing- 
ing, — 


THE  STORY  OF   WULF.  I2Q 

"  My  sword  is  my  father, 
My  shield  is  my  mother, 
My  ship  is  my  sister, 
My  horse  is  my  brother." 

and  his  comrades  shook  their  long,  yellow  locks, 
and  lifted  their  heads  as  they  stood  there  on  the 
deck  of  the  "  Sea-horse,"  and  sang,  or  rather 
roared  out,  — 

"  Cheerly,  my  sea-cocks  ! 

Crow,  for  the  day-dawn ; 
True  heroes,  troth-plighted 
Together  we  '11  die." 

When  Hengist's  three  keels  touched  British 
shores,  King  Vortigern  sent  down  the  Count  of 
the  Saxon  shore  to  greet  the  strangers  in  his 
name,  and  ask  whence  they  had  come  and  where- 
fore. 

He  heard  with  delight  that  the  bold  Saxons 
had  brought  their  swords  for  his  service. 

"  How  shall  I  pay  you  ?  "  he  asked  of  Hengist. 

"  Land  !  "  said  Hengist.  "  Land  shall  be  my 
pay.  I  fight  for  love  of  fighting  ;  but  I  serve 
you  for  land." 

Once  on  shore,  the  Saxons  were  already  at 
home. 


13°      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

"  My  plough  is  my  sword,  my  treasure  is  my 
good  right  hand,"  said  Hengist.  "  And  now 
that  I  have  come  I  will  stay,  and  my  people 
shall  plough  many  hides  of  British  soil,  and 
win  treasures  on  many  a  battle-field." 

Before  setting  out  against  Vortigern's  ene- 
mies, Wulf  put  his  hands  between  the  hands  of 
his  uncle,  and  took  a  solemn  oath,  "  by  oak, 
and  ash,  and  thorn,"  and  by  the  great  god  Wo- 
den himself,  that  he  would  be  Hengist's  faithful 
companion  and  serve  him  to  the  death. 

Then  began  their  march  against  the  Picts, 
the  wild,  painted  men  of  the  North.  Through 
the  fens  and  the  forests  they  marched,  and  at 
last  out  on  the  grand,  old  Roman  roads,  straetas 
(streets)  the  Saxons  called  them.  And  the 
boy  wondered  at  the  great  walled  cities,  where 
the  Britons  lived,  as  the  Romans  had  taught 
them. 

And  now  Wulf  learned  to  fight,  —  to  fight  on 
at  all  odds,  never  to  be  turned  back  by  defeat, 
never  to  acknowledge  himself  beaten  ;  to  say  to 
his  victorious  enemy,  "The  victory  is  yours 
to-day ;  it  may  be  mine  to-morrow.  I  will  not 


THE  STORY  OF   WULF.  131 

give  back.  I  stand  where  to-day's  fortunes  have 
placed  me.  To-morrow  I  will  go  forward." 

"  When  the  Picts  are  conquered  we  shall  be 
ready  for  the  Britons,"  said  Hengist. 

"  But  the  Britons  may  also  be  ready  for  you," 
suggested  Ida. 

"They  will  find  it  is  ill  work  trapping  an 
eagle.  When  they  have  caught  him,  it  is  often 
the  safest  thing  to  let  him  go  again,"  said  Hen- 
gist  proudly. 

And  the  banner  of  the  white  horse  went  ever 
forward. 

One  day  Hengist  called  the  boy  to  come 
with  him,  as  kinsman  and  companion,  to  found 
for  themselves  a  stronghold  on  British  soil. 
And,  taking  a  bull's  hide,  he  cut  it  round  and 
round  into  one  long  strip,  and  with  this  thong 
of  leather  he  encompassed  a  rocky  hill,  and 
there  they  built  a  castle,  and  called  it  Thong 
castle.  Strong  bars  of  oak  across  its  doors, 
narrow  slits  in  the  stone  walls  for  windows,  it 
was  a  safe  retreat  in  which  to  stand  against 
British  assaults ;  and,  moreover,  it  was  a  sign 
that  the  land  on  every  side  was  their  own. 


I32      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

The  twelve-year-old  boy  is  growing  into  a 
strong,  young  warrior,  whose  watchword  is, 
"  Woe  to  those  who  cannot  take  care  of  them- 
selves !  Woe  to  the  weak  !  " 

It  is  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet,  in  the  south- 
eastern part  of  what  we  call  England,  that  the 
Saxons  have  made  a  home.  There  they  have 
set  up  the  banner  of  the  white  horse.  There 
they  have  their  moot-hill,  and  hold  their  moot- 
court,  as  of  old.  And  year  by  year  their  keels 
cross  the  sea,  bringing  their  brothers  and 
friends  to  join  them.  Among  them  comes  Ella 
to  meet  Wulf  again.  Both  boys  have  drawn 
swords  in  more  than  one  battle  ;  both  love  the 
roving  life,  the  fortune  of  the  day ;  both  have 
learned  that  justice  between  man  and  man, 
adherence  to  one's  oath,  and,  above  all,  courage, 
mark  a  free-born  man  ;  and  to  be  a/ra?  man  is 
as  good  as  to  be  a  king. 

No  reading  or  writing  for  them;  no  schools 
nor  books.  They  study  only  out  of  the  book 
of  every-day  life,  and  a  pretty  rough  life  it  is, 
too. 

Few  days  or  nights  of  peace,  but  always  an 


THE  STORY  OF   WULF.  133 

enemy  at  hand  to  keep  their  fighting  powers  in 
good  practice.  Wulf  has  earned  the  right  to 
wear  his  father's  sword,  "  Brain-biter,"  and  Ella, 
too,  loves  and  cherishes  a  sword  to  which  he  has 
given  the  name  "  Death-dealer." 

They  lie  at  night  on  the  ground,  or  at  best  on 
a  bed  of  rushes.  They  sit  at  the  feast  of  boar's 
flesh  after  the  battle  is  over,  and  drink  great 
horns  of  mead,  and  sing  war  songs. 

Sometimes  they  listen  with  wonder  to  the 
tales  of  the  old  gleeman,  —  tales  of  marvellous 
deeds  of  valor  ;  tales  of  dwarfs  and  elves  of  the 
forest ;  of  Beorn,  the  magic  warrior,  who  could 
mutter  runes  that  would  stop  short  his  enemy's 
vessel  in  its  course,  in  spite  of  a  fair  wind,  and 
make  the  rower's  efforts  of  no  avail,  or  could 
check  an  arrow  midway  in  its  flight.  "  It  were 
useless  to  fight  against  magic,"  muttered  the 
old  gleeman. 

The  gleeman  had  a  book,  —  "  boc  "  he  called 
it,  from  the  beech  (boc)  tree  wood  of  which  it 
was  made.  A  little  wooden  tablet  you  and  I 
should  call  it,  I  think  ;  but  to  them  it  was  a  very 
valuable  book,  with  a  few  strange  words  carved 


134      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

upon  it.  A  thorn  stood  for  th  ;  ice  meant  i  ;  oak 
a  or  ac  ;  zc  —  which  looks  to  me  like  H  turned 
sideways  —  meant  hail ;  and  x  meant  man. 
This  is  all  I  can  tell  you  of  their  written  lan- 
guage, but  even  this  little  was  known  only  to  a 
few. 

The  king  and  the  earls  themselves  could  not 
write  their  names.  They  could  only  make  some 
mark  or  sign  for  the  name,  and  it  is  from  that 
custom  that  we  have  learned  to  speak  of  signing 
our  names. 

Paper  was  not  made  in  those  days.1  A  few 
pieces  of  parchment  might  be  had  whereon  to 
write  charters  and  other  important  deeds.  All 
the  books  there  were,  were  written  in  Latin,  and 
Latin  these  Saxons  did  not  understand  ;  and  yet 
they  brought  into  our  English  language  twenty- 
three  thousand  words.  Four  fifths  of  the  com- 
mon words  that  we  use  in  our  every-day  talk  are 
Anglo-Saxon  words ;  all  the  home  words  father, 
mother,  brother,  sister,  child,  house,  sun,  moon, 
day,  night,  and  the  days  of  the  week,  as  you  saw 

1  Papyrus  was  in  use  long  before,  but  not  in  that  part  of  the 
world. 


THE  STORY  OF   WULF.  135 

in  the  early  part  of  this  story,  —  all  these  and 
thousands  more  they  have  left  us. 

This  boy,  Wulf,  was  our  ancestor,  yours  and 
mine.  It  was  because  of  him  and  his  compan- 
ions that  Britain  became  England,  for  a  part  of 
the  Saxons  were  called  Angles,  Engle-men,  or 
English  men. 

We  no  longer  delight  in  war  as  they  did,  but 
they  had  many  manly  virtues  which  we  may 
well  thank  them  for  bequeathing  to  us  ;  and 
how  gentle  manners  began  to  grow  up  at  last 
among  warlike  people,  we  may  learn  from  Gil- 
bert the  page,  who  will  one  day  become  a 
knight. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT  THE   PAGE,  WHO   WILL 
ONE  DAY  BECOME  A  KNIGHT. 

"  Make  me  thy  Knight,  because  I  know,  Sir  King, 
All  that  belongs  to  Knighthood" 

THE  boys  are  at  their  lessons  in  the  court 
yard  .of  the  castle.  I  say  "  at  their  lessons," 
but  you  must  not  imagine  them  studying  their 
books,  or  hard  at  work  on  some  difficult  ques- 
tion in  arithmetic. 

No,  the  lesson  they  are  learning  on  this 
bright  September  afternoon  is  one  that  boys  of 
our  time  might  call  play, — and  yet  it  is  a  pretty 

hard  lesson  too. 

136 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  1 37 

Their  master  has  set  up  for  them  a  quintain, 
and  Guy,  and  Walter,  and  Geoffrey  and  Robert, 
and  even  little  Hugh,  are  trying  their  skill  by 
riding  at  it. 

Let  us  take  a  look  at  the  quintain,  for  perhaps 
you  have  never  seen  one  before.  It  is  a  rough 
figure  of  a  man  fastened  by  a  pivot  upon  a  post 
in  such  a  way  that  it  will  easily  swing  round. 
It  bears  a  club  in  one  hand  and  in  the  other  a 
shield  held  before  it. 

Now  watch  young  Geoffrey  as  he  rides  his 
pony  gallantly,  and,  with  lance  in  rest  and  head 
bent  low,  charges  the  quintain. 

See,  he  strikes  fairly  on  the  middle  of  the 
shield,  and  passing,  wheels  his  pony  and  returns 
to  the  entrance  of  the  court  yard. 

Then  up  comes  Robert,  and  he  too  would 
gladly  strike  the  shield  ;  but  it  is  not  so  easy  to 
manage  both  pony  and  lance  at  the  same  time : 
the  blow  falls  on  one  side  instead  of  in  the 
middle,  and  instantly  the  quintain  swings  round 
and  deals  him  a  blow  with  the  club  as  he  passes. 
Even  the  pony  seems  to  share  the  shame  of  this 
failure,  and  he  and  his  young  rider  return  with 


I38      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

drooping  heads  to  the  end  of  the  lists.  You 
see  it  is  not  a  very  easy  lesson  after  all,  and  it 
takes  much  practice  and  patience  to  learn  it. 

Up  rides  one  boy  after  another,  and  with 
varying  fortunes  they  return  and  are  ready  to 
try  again  at  their  master's  call,  till  the  red  sun- 
set lights  up  the  tall  towers  of  the  castle,  and 
the  narrow  windows,  —  mere  slits  in  the  thick 
stone  wall, — glitter  like  gems  as  they  reflect  the 
light,  for  they  have  glass  in  them,  a  new  and 
precious  article  which  has  just  come  into  use  in 
place  of  the  oiled  paper  which  formerly  covered 
the  window  slits. 

The  Lady  Margaret  comes  to  the  castle  door. 
She  calls  to  her  Walter,  the  page. 

"  You  have  the  eye  of  a  hawk,  Walter,"  she 
says.  "  Go  to  the  battlement  of  the  north  tower, 
and  see  if  you  can  spy  the  banners  of  my  lord 
returning  from  the  battle." 

The  boy  bows  gracefully  and  bounds  up  the 
narrow  stone  stairway  that  winds  about  within 
the  thickness  of  the  massive  wall.  He  springs 
up  stair  after  stair,  and  soon  finds  himself  on  the 
battlements  of  the  north  tower,  looking  far  over 


'The  heavy  drawbridge  is  swung  across  the  moat ;  the  barred 
portcullis  is  raised." —  Page  139. 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  139 

field  and  forest  towards  the  high  road  and  the 
ford  of  the  winding  river. 

Suddenly  out  from  the  forest  path  just  beside 
the  ford  he  sees  a  glittering  helmet,  and  the 
shimmer  of  light  upon  lance  and  shield. 

"  He  comes  !  "  cries  the  boy,  waving  his  hand 
to  the  watchers  below,  and  then,  running  quickly 
down,  he  drops  on  one  knee  at  the  feet  of  the 
lady,  and  says,  "  Dear  lady,  my  lord  is  already 
passing  the  ford  of  the  white  stones,  and  he  will 
be  here  before  the  sunset  light  has  faded." 

The  lady  thanks  him  with  a  gracious  smile, 
and  bidding  him  go  back  to  his  companions, 
she  turns  to  the  steward  and  squire  of  the  hall, 
and  bids  them  prepare  the  feast,  for  the  knights 
will  be  both  faint  and  weary. 

The  boys  loiter  about  the  castle  gate,  listen- 
ing for  the  bugle  blast  that  shall  announce  the 
approach  of  the  lord  of  the  castle,  and  presently 
a  gay  troop  of  knights  on  prancing  horses,  with 
pennon  on  lance,  breaks  from  the  gloomy  for- 
est, and  with  a  ringing  bugle  blast  turns  up  the 
hill-path  that  leads  to  the  castle  gate. 

The  heavy    drawbridge  is  swung  across  the 


140      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

moat ;  the  barred  portcullis  is  raised,  and  with 
jingling  spurs  and  clashing  shields  the  knight* 
pass  into  the  court-yard. 

Riding  behind  Sir  Roland  is  a  boy  of  twelve 
years ;  on  his  saddle-bow  he  carries  his  lord's 
helmet ;  and  he  watches  with  careful  attention 
every  word  or  gesture  of  Sir  Roland,  as  if 
expecting  some  command.  In  a  moment  it 
comes. 

"  Gilbert,  take  thou  the  English  boy  to  thy 
master,  Baldwin,  and  he  will  provide  for  him 
lodging,  and  all  needful  care." 

And  turning   to  a   fair-faced,   golden-haired 
boy,  who  rides  at  his  side,  he  says  to  him,  "  Go 
thou    with    Gilbert.     The    son   of   so  valiant  a 
father  will  find  welcome  and  safety  in   my  cas- 
tle." 

So  the  two  boys  turn  their  horses'  heads 
towards  the  side  of  the  court-yard,  where  we 
have  already  seen  Walter  and  Guy  and  the 
others  charging  the  quintain. 

Gilbert  conducts  his  companion  to  Baldwin, 
the  old  squire,  and  presents  him  as  Edward,  son 
of  Sir  Richard  Britto,  a  hostage  for  his  father, 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  14! 

who  was  yesterday  taken  prisoner  by  Sir  Ro- 
land. 

Sir  Richard  had  gone  home  to  England  to 
raise  his  ransom  and  had  left  his  son  as  hostage 
for  his  own  appearance  here,  as  soon  thereafter 
as  the  will  of  heaven  will  permit. 

Baldwin,  the  squire,  receives  the  English  lad 
kindly,  and  directs  that  he  shall  share  Gilbert's 
lodging  at  the  top  of  the  north  tower,  and  then 
he  bids  the  boys  make  ready  to  serve  the  meal. 

Walter  and  Geoffrey  and  Guy  are  already  busy 
relieving  the  knights  of  their  heavy  armor,  and 
the  tables  are  laid  in  the  long  hall,  which,  now 
that  daylight  is  fading,  has  been  lighted  with 
blazing  torches. 

"  A  long  hall  it  is  indeed.  The  walls  are  hung 
with  tapestry,  whereon  are  strange  pictures  of 
men  and  animals,  towers  and  trees,  castles  and 
stag-hunts.  Banners  are  grouped  over  the  win- 
dows, and  shields  hang  glittering  in  the  torch- 
light ;  the  floor  is  strewn  with  sweet  herbs,  from 
which  the  foot  presses  out  the  fragrance  as  the 
knights  come  in  with  stately  tread. 

A  long  table  down  the  middle,  and  a  shorter 


I42      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

one  across  the  upper  end,  on  a  slightly  raised 
platform,  are  already  loaded  with  dishes  and 
flagons.  A  large  thick  slice  of  bread  serves 
each  guest  as  a  plate,  and  a  little  crusty  loaf, 
called  a  knight's  loaf,  is  placed  beside  his  dish 
of  soup. 

There  are  boar's  flesh  and  venison,  and  baked 
meats,  and  as  the  knights  take  seats  in  the  order 
of  their  rank,  their  favorite  dogs  stretch  them- 
selves at  their  feet. 

The  pages  —  many  of  them  sons  of  these  same 
knights  —  serve  every  one,  pour  the  wine,  carve 
the  meats,  and  pass  the  dishes. 

Presently  two  damsels  enter,  carrying  be- 
tween them  a  silver  dish,  upon  which  rests  a 
roasted  peacock,  gay  in  all  its  feathers  and  with 
outspread  resplendent  tail.1 

They  advance  to  the  upper  table,  and  there 
set  the  dainty  dish  before  the  lord  of  the  castle ; 
and  then  the  twanging  of  a  harp  is  heard,  and 
the  old  gray-haired  minstrel  begins  to  sing, 
and  the  feast  is  fairly  begun. 

1  In  preparing  a  peacock  for  the  table,  the  skin  is  care 
fully  removed,  and,  after  the  roasting,  replaced. 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  143 

Gilbert  and  his  companion  have  soon  washed 
off  the  dust  of  their  journey,  and  are  ready  to 
take  their  share  of  the  service,  while  they  lis- 
ten with  delight  to  the  minstrel's  song,  relating 
feats  of  arms  of  the  knights  of  old,  and  ending 
with  Sir  Roland's  own  brave  victory  of  yes- 
terday. 

After  the  feast  is  over,  Gilbert  is  summoned 
by  a  gentle  lady, —  Edith  by  name,  —  whom  he 
had  chosen  when  he  was  but  eight  years  old  for 
his  mistress,  whom  he  would  loyally  serve  for 
ever. 

She  asks  him  about  the  expedition  from  which 
he  has  just  returned,  and  when  he  has  told  his 
tale,  modestly  omitting  to  mention  himself  at 
all,  she  says  with  a  smile  that  brightens  all  her 
face,  "  And  you,  too,  have  acquitted  yourself 
well.  Sir  Roland  tells  me  that  you  pressed 
through  many  dangers  to  bring  him  a  fresh 
lance  when  his  own  was  broken,  and  that  but  for 
thee,  my  Gilbert,  he  would  not  have  been  able 
to  take  prisoner  this  English  knight,  Sir  Rich- 
ard Britto.  It  is  good  to  be  valiant  amid  dan- 
gers, but  there  is  no  real  danger  but  the 


144      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

danger  of  being  a  coward."  So  said  the  lady 
Edith. 

The  boy's  face  glows  with  delight  as  he  hears 
these  words  from  his  fair  lady. 

"  And  bring  me  even  now  thy  new  comrade, 
the  English  hostage,"  she  says.  And  Gilbert, 
crossing  the  hall,  finds  the  lad  standing  in  the 
deep  embrasure  of  the  window,  and  listening, 
with  a  scowl  on  his  brow,  to  the  discourse  of 
two  knights  who  are  recounting  the  events  of 
the  last  few  days. 

"He  yielded,  rescue  or  no  rescue,"  said  one, 
"  and  the  word  of  a  knight  is  a  bond  not  to  be 
broken.  And  yet,  I  doubt  not,  his  kinsmen  will 
gather  to  his  rescue ;  and  in  a  week  and  a  day, 
if  not  earlier,  we  must  bar  our  gates  and  hold 
our  own  as  best  we  may  against  Sir  Everhard 
with  two  hundred  lances  at  his  back." 

At  this  moment  Gilbert  touches  the  boy 
upon  the  shoulder,  saying,  "  My  lady  Edith  calls 
for  thee,  —  come,"  and  with  a  light  step  and  the 
martial  bearing  of  young  knights  the  two  boys 
return  to  the  lady  who  awaits  them. 

With  gentle  kindness  she  questions  the  little 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  145 

stranger  about  his  home,  and  bids  him  welcome 
to  the  Castle  of  St.  Claire. 

"It  may  be  that  the  fortunes  of  war  will  leave 
you  with  us  for  many  months,  and  that  your 
training  as  becomes  the  son  of  a  knight  be  not 
allowed  to  languish,  you  shall  exercise  each  day 
under  the  care  of  Baldwin,  the  squire,  and  you 
shall  choose  among  the  ladies  of  St.  Claire  a 
mistress  whom  you  will  serve." 

"  I  serve  my  lady  mother,"  answers  the  boy, 
with  a  touch  of  resentment  in  his  tone.  "  It 
is  she  whom  I  love,  and  I  will  serve  her  before 
all  others." 

•'  Nay,  be  not  rude.  You  will  make  but  an 
ungentle  knight,  if  you  have  no  softer  tone  than 
that  for  a  lady.  You  serve  your  lady  mother 
from  duty,  but  what  lady  will  you  serve  for  love  ? 
See  yonder  lovely  ladies  who  listen  to  the  tales 
that  the  knights  are  telling.  Choose,  then,  one 
among  them  to  be  your  mistress  while  you 
abide  with  us  ;  for  how  can  your  knightly  train- 
ing go  on  if  you  lack  a  mistress  to  smile  upon 
your  successes  and  admonish  you  when  there  is 
need/' 


146     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

Again  the  boy  hesitates  ;  but,  looking  up,  he 
sees  the  kindly  eyes  of  the  Lady  Margaret  fixed 
upon  him  with  a  look  of  pity,  and  he  says  to 
Gilbert,  "  Lead  me  to  the  kind  lady  with  the 
broidered  robe.  I  will  gladly  serve  her  while  I 
stay." 

So  Gilbert  led  him  to  Lady  Margaret,  who 
instantly  understood  the  purpose  of  his  coming, 
and  sent  him  to  lead  to  her  side  her  favorite 
greyhound,  that  had  strayed  across  the  hall. 

But  the  feast  is  over ;  the  knights  are 
grouped  about  the  hall.  Young  Sir  Ranulf  is 
stringing  his  lute,  that  he  may  sing  to  Lady 
Edith  the  little  lay  that  he  made  in  her  honor 
as  he  rode  through  the  greenwood.  Old  Sir 
Guy,  too  feeble  now  for  warfare,  is  listening  to 
every  detail  of  the  fight  of  yesterday,  and 
asking,  "  What  news  from  the  king's  court  ? " 

"The  king,"  replies  Sir  Gerard,  "has  ordered 
each  nobleman  to  cause  the  high  roads  in  his 
province  to  be  guarded  every  day  from  sunrise 
to  sunset ;  and  if,  by  his  neglect,  robberies  shall 
occur,  he  must  make  the  loss  good." 

"  It  is  a  hard  task  he  sets  us,"  adds  Sir  Ber- 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  147 

nard.  "  If  a  man  must  keep  the  highway  safe, 
he  will  have  little  time  for  aught  else." 

The  boys,  who  would  gladly  stay  and  listen, 
have  been  sent  to  their  lodgings  in  the  north 
tower,  and  while  they  sleep  shall  you  and  I 
ramble  about  this  castle,  their  home,  and  become 
a  little  better  acquainted  with  it  ? 

All  around  it  is  a  wide,  deep  moat  or  ditch,  to 
be  crossed  only  by  a  bridge  which  is  drawn  up 
and  safely  secured  in  the  great  arched  gateway 
of  the  outer  wall. 

If  we  sound  our  horn,  and,  announcing  our- 
selves as  friends,  are  allowed  to  cross  the  draw- 
bridge and  enter  the  gateway,  there  is  still  the 
great,  barred  portcullis  that  can  be  suddenly  let 
down  to  prevent  our  further  entrance,  if  the 
warder  so  wills. 

But  we  are  welcome  guests  and  we  soon  find 
ourselves  in  the  outer  court,  the  place  where  the 
boys  were  practising  with  the  quintain  yester- 
day. 

Here  on  one  side  are  stables  for  the  horses, 
lodging  for  the  yeomen  and  the  squires,  and 
room  for  saddling  and  mounting  when  the  train 


148      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

of  knights  make  ready  to  ride  out  to  battle 
or  to  tournament. 

Square  towers  guard  the  gateway  and  the 
corners  of  the  walls,  and  the  great  stone  battle- 
ments have  many  a  slit  or  gutter  down  which 
boiling  tar  or  melted  lead  may  be  poured  upon 
a  besieging  enemy. 

The  stone  stairways  wind  with  many  a  turn 
through  the  walls.  If  an  enemy  should  succeed 
in  crossing  the  moat,  forcing  the  gate,  and  win- 
ning the  outer  court,  still  the  great  strong 
inner  keep  may  be  held,  and  every  stair  defended 
with  sword  and  dagger  and  battle-axe.  For 
these  are  times  when  each  man's  home  is  a 
castle,  a  fort  to  be  held  against  neighbors  who 
may  any  day  prove  themselves  enemies. 

You  would  not  need  to  live  in  this  castle 
many  months  to  witness  many  a  brave  defence 
against  enemies  who  are  also  brave. 

But  we  want  to  know  Something  of  the 
common  daily  life  of  Gilbert  and  his  companions, 
and  so  we  must  go  with  them  in  the  early  morn- 
ing into  the  little  chapel  of  the  castle,  where 
the  priest  reads  the  matin  service  in  Latin,  and 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  149 

lords  and  ladies  and  pages  kneel  upon  stone 
floor  or  velvet  cushions  and  repeat  their  Pater 
Noster  and  their  Ave  Maria.  These  prayers 
have  been  taught  to  the  boys  by  their  fair 
ladies,  who  bid  them  always  reassure  themselves 
in  time  of  danger  by  the  thought,  "  For  God 
and  for  my  lady,"  and  then  do  nobly  the  best 
they  can. 

Chapel  service  and  breakfast  being  over,  the 
knights  and  ladies  will  go  hawking  by  the  river, 
and  Lady  Edith  calls  upon  Gilbert  to  bring  her 
gray  falcon.  The  boy  comes  quickly,  and 
perched  upon  his  wrist,  with  scarlet  hood  and 
collar  of  gold,  is  the  gray  falcon,  or  goshawk. 

The  ladies  are  mounted  on  their  palfreys,  and, 
with  the  knights  on  their  gay  horses,  come 
prancing  over  the  drawbridge,  and  turn  down 
the  bridle-path  towar-ds  the  river. 

They  pass  the  field,  where  the  peasant  boys 
are  gathering  in  the  grain,  the  big  oven  of  stone, 
where  the  women  come  to  bake  their  bread,  and 
come  at  last  to  the  mill  beside  the  stream,  where 
the  peasants  must  come  to  grind  their  corn ;  for 
every  peasant  must  bake  in  his  lord's  oven  and 


15°      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

grind  in  his  lord's  mill,  as  well  as  till  his  lord's 
fields  and  fight  against  his  lord's  enemies,  if  so 
brave  a  knight  should  ever  have  need  of  the 
services  of  so  humble  a  vassal. 

The  peasant  boys  are  dressed  in  gowns  or 
blouses  fastened  round  the  waist  with  a  strip  of 
leather ;  their  legs  are  bare,  and  they  wear 
clumsy  shoes  of  wood  or  of  coarse  leather. 
Their  matted  hair,  hangs  uncombed  and  shaggy 
about  their  faces.  You  would  hardly  think 
they  were  of  the  same  race  as  the  pretty  boy 
pages  in  their  gay  dresses,  who  ride  or  run 
beside  their  lords  and  ladies. 

"  To  go  a  hawking  by  the  river  with  gray  goshawk  on  hand." 

I  am  sure  you  never  went  "a  hawking,"  so  I 
will  stop  to  tell  you  of  this  morning's  sport. 

As  the  merry  troop  near  the  river,  a  long- 
legged  heron,  who  was  standing  quietly  fishing 
for  his  breakfast  among  the  reeds  near  the  bank, 
is  startled  by  the  sound  of  laughter  and  the 
jingling  of  bridle  bells.  He  spreads  his  wings 
and  rises  from  his  breakfast-table  to  see  what  is 
the  matter  ;  but  no  sooner  is  he  in  sight,  than 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  15  I 

Lady  Edith  waves  her  white  hand  to  Gilbert ; 
he  slips  the  little  scarlet  hood  from  the  falcon's 
head,  and  away  darts  the  strong  bird  of  prey,  up, 
up,  up,  while  lords  and  ladies  rein  in  their 
horses  and  sit  watching  his  flight.  See  him  go  ! 
Why,  he  has  fairly  passed  the  heron,  and  still  he 
flies  higher.  Yes,  he  did  that  to  "get  the  sky 
of  him,"  that  is,  to  get  above  him,  between  him 
and  the  sky.  You  understand  it  perfectly  when 
you  see  him,  the  next  minute,  pounce  down, 
down,  with  a  terrible  swoop,  upon  the  heron,  and 
kill  it  with  one  blow  of  strong  claws  and  beak. 

"  Sound  your  lure,  Gilbert,"  cries  Lady  Edith, 
and  Gilbert  lifts  the  pretty  lure  that  hangs  by 
his  side,  and  sounds  a  long,  clear  whistle  upon 
it.  The  falcon  turns  instantly,  and  darts  back 
to  him,  knowing  that  the  whistle  means  for  him 
praise  and  petting,  and  some  dainty  bit  of  food 
as  a  reward  for  his  good  hunting ;  and  then  he 
is  chained  to  his  perch,  and  hooded  again,  until 
another  bird  rises. 

Many  a  bird  do  the  falcons  bring  down  on 
that  bright  morning,  and  when  the  merry  party 
turns  back  towards  the  castle,  the  knights 


IS2      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

sound  their  hunting  horns,  the  warder  lets 
down  the  drawbridge,  and  they  all  troop  in  as 
gaily  as  they  went  out. 

In  a  corner  of  the  outer  court  the  boys  find 
the  old  armorer  at  work.  He  is  singing  to  him- 
self as  he  sharpens  a  sword  or  fits  a  lance  point, 
and  the  boys  love  to  watch  and  to  listen. 

"That  is  my  father's  sword,  is  it  not,  Golan?" 
asked  Gilbert. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  armorer,  "that  is  your 
father's  sword,  'Morglay.'  Can  you  read,  my 
lad?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Gilbert,  "  Father  Pierre  has 
taught  me  to  read  from  the  psalter." 

"  Read  then,"  says  the  armorer,  "  the  motto 
on  this  sword,  for  it  will  one  day  be  your  own." 

The  boy  spelled  out  with  some  difficulty  the 
words  inscribed  on  the  sword-hilt,  but  finally 
he  lifted  his  head  proudly  and  read  out  clearly, 
"For  God  and  my  right." 

"  This  sword  has  done  good  service  for  many 
a  year,"  went  on  the  old  man.  "  Its  blade  has 
sent  many  a  Paynim  to  his  death,  and  its  hilt 
has  served  as  a  cross  for  many  a  death-prayer." 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  153 

"  I  was  beside  your  father  when  he  was  made 
knight-banneret.  That  was  before  you  were 
born.  The  king  was  about  to  give  battle  to 
the  English  ;  your  father  rode  into  camp  with  a 
hundred  lances  behind  his  back,  and  his  pennon 
floating  from  his  lance.  'Sire/  he  said,  present- 
ing the  pennon  to  the  king,  '  I  place  my  pennon 
at  your  service ; '  and  the  king  gave  it  back  to 
him,  cut  into  a  square  banner,  bidding  him  hence- 
,  forth  carry  a  banner,  instead  of  a  pennon,  ever 
foremost  in  battle." 

But  the  boys  must  not  linger  to  talk  or  listen, 
for  already  the  tables  are  spread  in  the  long 
hall. 

After  dinner  Lord  Roland  challenges  Lord 
Percy  to  a  game  of  chess,  and  while  Guy,  the 
page,  goes  to  arrange  the  board,  Gilbert  and 
English  Edward  are  called  out  upon  the  balcony 
to  attend  the  ladies,  who  have  gathered  round 
the  old  minstrel,  and  asked  for  a  tale  of  true 
love  and  honor. 

The  old  man  touches  his  harp,  and,  lifting  his 
face,  sits  listening  for  a  moment  to  the  soft 
sounds  that  his  fingers  awaken  among  the 


154      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

strings ;  then  a   smile   lights    his   face   and   he 
begins  to  sing. 

The  song  is  of  a  fair  lady  shut  up  in  a  strong 
tower  and  hidden  away  from  the  knight  whon? 
she  loves,  and  of  her  rescue  by  the  knight,  who 
braves  all  dangers  for  her  sake,  —  a  sweet,  old 
story,  which  I  must  not  stop  to  tell  you  here, 
but  you  can  find  a  hundred  like  it  among  the 
old  chivalric  tales. 

The  ladies  sigh  at  the  sad  parts,  and  smile  at% 
the  brave  deeds,  and  when  the  song  is    ended, 
they  give  the  old  man  a  mantle  and  a  piece  of 
silver,  and  wine  in  a  silver  flagon. 

"  Now  tell  me,  young  Edward,"  says  Lady 
Margaret,  "have  you  in  England  songs  like 
this,  and  minstrels  who  sing  so  sweet  ?  That 
you  have  brave  knights  and  fair  ladies  we  already 
know.  Perhaps  you  can  yourself  touch  the  lute, 
and  sing  some  song  of  love,  or  of  deeds  of  arms. 
Bring  hither  your  lute,  Walter,  and  let  the 
young  stranger  sing  to  us/' 

"  As  you  command  me,  dear  lady,"  answers 
the  boy,  "  I  gladly  obey,"  and  after  a  little  pre- 
lude upon  the  lute,  he  began,  — 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  155 

"  It  was  an  English  lady  bright 
The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlyle  wall 
And  she  would  marry  a  Scottish  knight 
For  love  would  still  be  lord  of  all." 

"Then  love  is  lord  of  all  even  across  the 
seas,"  Lady  Margaret  says,  as  the  boy  ends 
his  song. 

"  Listen  now,  dear  youths,  for  I  would  have 
you  learn  from  the  minstrel's  tale  the  rule  of  a 
true  knight.  Lay  it  to  heart,  that  it  may  serve 
you  in  your  need." 

"  A  true  knight  should  have  his  feet  steady, 
his  hands  diligent,  his  eyes  watchful,  and  his 
heart  resolute." 

"  And  all  for  the  service  of  God  and  his  lady," 
added  Lord  Roland,  who  at  that  moment  stepped 
upon  the  balcony. 

For  a  few  days  life  goes  on  gaily  at  St.  Claire. 
One  day  there  is  hawking,  another  hunting. 
The  boys  practise  charging  the  quintain,  and 
learn  that  to  break  lance  against  the  pommel  of 
a  saddle  is  greater  shame  than  to  have  stayed 
out  of  the  contest  altogether ;  so  day  by  day 
their  charge  grows  surer  and  steadier  upon  the 


156      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

shield,  and  they  long  to   prove   themselves   at 
some  grand  tourney. 

One  morning  a  messenger  rides  up  to  the  cas- 
tle gate  and  delivers  a  letter  with  a  ponderous 
seal,  which  Gilbert  carries  to  Lord  Roland. 

The  knight  looks  at  the  seal,  and  breaks  it 
carefully,  and,  after  much  study  of  the  letter, 
summons  the  priest  to  read  it  to  him,  saying, 
"  I  am  no  clerk." 

"The  holy  bishop  is  journeying  through  the 
province,  and,  with  Abbot  Adam  and  his  com- 
pany, will  honor  you  by  dining  with  you  to-day. 
He  also  wills  that  all  the  youths  of  your  house- 
hold, who  are  of  twelve  years  or  over,  be  ready 
to  take  before  him  the  oath  prescribed  by  the 
Council  of  Clermont." 

Thus  ran  the  letter ;  and  it  caused  great  bus- 
tle in  the  castle,  both  in  kitchen  and  in  hall. 
Especially  were  the  pages  drilled  in  their  duties, 
that  they  might  serve  the  bishop  with  both 
grace  and  reverence. 

Before  noon  the  stately  train  enters  the  cas- 
tle and  receives  a  courteous  welcome  from  its 
lord  and  lady. 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  157 

The  floor  of  the  long  hall  has  been  freshly 
strewn  with  fragrant  grasses,  and  among  the 
costly  dishes  provided  for  the  dinner  is  a  roasted 
swan,  which  Gilbert,  as  the  best  carver,  is  al- 
lowed to  serve.  Then  there  are  loaves  of  fine 
wheaten  bread,  and  russet  apples,  baked  pears, 
and  peaches  heaped  upon  silver  dishes,  and  figs 
from  Malta. 

In  the  train  of  the  bishop  and  the  abbot,  Guy 
and  Walter  have  already  spied  three  boys  ;  two 
of  them  not  more  than  eight  years  old,  dressed 
like  themselves,  in  tunics  of  gay  colors,  and  with 
beautiful  curling  hair.  The  other  boy,  of  per- 
haps twelve  years,  has  his  hair  closely  cut,  and 
wears  a  gray  blouse  of  the  simplest  pattern  and 
coarsest  texture,  and  yet  he  does  not  look  like 
the  peasant  boys  whom  we  saw  at  work  in  the 
fields.  He  is,  it  is  true,  the  son  of  a  peasant, 
the  boy  Suger,  whom  the  good  monks  have 
taken  into  the  abbey,  that  they  may  teach  him, 
for  the  lad  shows  a  fine  head  for  reading  and 
psalm-singing.  He  can  not  only  write  with  the 
stylus  on  waxen  tablets,  but  he  can  copy  with  a 
pen  on  parchment,  and  he  is  kept  busy  many 


I58      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

hours  of  each  day  copying  books  in  beautiful 
red  and  blue  letters,  while  the  monk,  Stephen, 
in  the  next  cell,  takes  from  him  each  page  and 
decorates  it  with  delicately  drawn  pictures  of 
saints  and  angels. 

It  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  work  on  these 
books.  They  are  so  rare  that  few  people  own 
even  one  of  them,  and  you  must  know  that  there 
were,  in  those  times,  no  printed  books  like  those 
which  you  read  every  day,  for  the  art  of  print- 
ing had  not  yet  been  invented. 

Suger  had  accompanied  the  holy  abbot  on  this 
journey  that  he  might  attend  the  two  young 
boys,  Henry  and  Geoffrey,  twin  sons  of  Lord 
Eustace  of  Boulogne.  The  bishop  is  their  uncle, 
and  the  boys  are  themselves,  in  part,  the  cause 
of  his  visit  to  the  castle.  He  had  received  them 
a  week  before  from  their  father,  with  the  request 
that,  if  he  were  travelling  southward,  he  would 
place  the  children  with  his  old  friend  and  brother 
in  arms,  Roland  of  St.  Claire,  that  in  his  castle, 
and  under  the  care  of  the  priests,  the  squire, 
and,  most  of  all,  the  ladies  who  were  teaching 
his  own  son,  they  might  begin  their  chivalric 
education 


THE  STORY  OF   GILBERT.  159 

"  It  is  a  shame  to  do  nothing  but  eat,  and 
drink,  and  waste  time  ;"  their  father  had  said, 
"  the  lads  are  eight  years  old ;  let  them  at 
least  learn  the  duty  of  obedience  and  service, 
and  nowhere  can  they  learn  it  better  than  at  St. 
Claire." 

All  this  the  bishop  is  telling  to  Lord  Roland, 
who  would  have  gladly  taken  the  boys  to  please 
their  uncle,  and  still  more  gladly  accepts  the 
charge  for  love  of  his  old  brother  in  arms,  Lord 
Eustace. 

"  And  now,"  says  the  bishop,  "  since  the  holy 
Council  of  Clermont  has  so  decreed,  let  all  the 
pages  who  are  of  twelve  years  or  over,  repair  to 
the  chapel,  and  there  take  the  first  sacred  oath 
that  their  calling  requires  of  them." 

Gilbert  and  Guy  and  Walter  and  Geoffrey, 
the  son  of  Count  Charles,  are  accordingly  sum- 
moned to  the  chapel,  and,  kneeling  there  before 
the  bishop,  they  repeat  reverently  the  promise 
to  defend  widows  and  orphans ;  to  protect 
women  ;  to  do  all  that  may  lie  in  their  power  to 
render  travel  safe,  and  to  destroy  tyranny. 

And  the  bishop  gives  them  his  blessing,  and 


160      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

prays  that  by  God's  grace,  they  may  have 
strength  to  keep  this  oath. 

It  was  a  strange  promise,  you  think,  for  a  boy 
of  twelve.  But  when  it  was  thought  necessary 
for  even  such  young  boys  to  take  a  sacred 
oath  to  protect  women  and  orphans,  you  can 
see  that  women  and  orphans  must  have  been  in 
great  need  of  protection.  If  even  boys  were 
made  responsible  for  rendering  travel  safe,  then 
indeed  the  high  roads  must  have  been  full  of 
danger,  and  if  every  boy  is  to  destroy  tyranny, 
tyrants  must  have  been  more  common  than  they 
are  in  our  own  days. 

Hardly  have  the  bishop  and  his  train  left  the 
next  morning,  when  a  rider  in  hot  haste  reaches 
the  castle  with  news  that  Sir  Everhard  Break- 
spear,  with  more  than  two  hundred  lances  at  his 
back,  is  riding  up  from  the  north  ford,  and  will 
reach  the  castle  in  less  than  an  hour. 

No  hawking  nor  hunting  that  day,  but  each 
knight  looks  to  his  arms,  and  each  has  his  place 
assigned  him  for  the  defence. 

There  is  a  hasty  council  held  in  the  hall,  and 
it  is  decided  that  word  must  be  sent  to  the 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  l6l 

neighboring  castle  of  Montain  that  Sir  Ever- 
hard  Breakspear  and  the  Free  Companions  are 
abroad,  and  help  is  needed  at  St.  Claire. 

"And  who  shall  bear  our  message?"  asks 
Lord  Percy. 

"  Gilbert,  the  page,  is  to  be  trusted  with  the 
message.  He  is  light  of  foot  or  safe  to  swim 
his  horse  through  the  stream,  if  need  be.  Let 
him  take  the  little  jennet,  and  go  without 
delay,"  said  Lord  Roland. 

When  Gilbert  is  told  of  his  errand,  it  seems 
to  him  that  an  opportunity  has  come  for  the 
first  fulfilment  of  his  oath  ;  for  even  the  boys 
know  how  the  Free  Companions  are  making  it 
unsafe  to  ride  unarmed,  or  even  well  armed,  by 
day  or  night  through  the  whole  province. 

So,  mounted  on  the  little  jennet, — a  light 
horse  with  a  light  burden,  —  the  boy  is  let  out 
at  the  postern  gate,  which  is  quickly  closed  and 
barred  behind  him. 

As  our  story  is  of  Gilbert,  rather  than  of  the 
castle,  we  will  follow  him  on  his  dangerous  ride, 
and  leave  the  knights  to  defend  their  strong- 
hold with  great  stones,  boiling  lead  and  pitch, 


1 62     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

and  many  a  crossbow  bolt,  and  lance,  until  sue 
cor  shall  arrive. 

Creeping  through  the  edge  of  the  forest,  the 
boy  finds  his  way  unnoticed,  but  presently  he 
hears  upon  the  high  road  the  trampling  of  many 
hoofs,  and,  forcing  his  horse  into  a  thicket,  he 
watches  the  mailed  horsemen,  that,  with  glitter- 
ing lance,  and  spur  on  heel,  make  a  gallant  show 
as  they  press  forward  on  the  road  to  St.  Claire. 

"Quiet,  my  beauty,"  he  whispers  to  his  horse, 
as  he  pats  his  neck.  "  Quiet !  We  will  outwit 
them  yet ;  but  let  them  pass  this  time."  And 
finally,  assuring  himself  that  the  last  laggard  of 
the  train  has  really  passed,  he  takes  the  high- 
way and  rides  fast  towards  the  castle  of  Mon- 
tain. 

The  sun  has  set  and  the  September  twilight 
is  fast  deepening  into  night,  when  from  the  for- 
est road  at  his  right  comes  a  black  horse  bear- 
ing a  tall  knight  in  armor.  His  head  is  covered 
only  with  the  light  bacinet,  but  at  his  saddle-bow 
hang  a  heavy  mallet  and  a  battle-axe,  and  from  his 
long  lance  floats  a  silken  pennon.  Behind  him 
rides  a  squire,  carrying  his  shield  and  helmet. 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  163 

"  Whither  so  fast,  young  page  ? "  he  cries  to 
the  boy,  who,  doubtful  whether  to  regard  the 
stranger  as  friend  or  foe,  inclines  to  urge  his 
horse  to  a  quicker  pace. 

"  To  do  my  lord's  will,"  replies  Gilbert  dis- 
creetly. 

"  And  what  may  be  your  lord's  will  ? "  asks 
the  knight. 

"  I  carry  a  message  to  the  Lord  of  Montain, 
but  it  is  my  lord's  message,  not  mine.  I  have 
no  right  to  give  it  to  another." 

"  That  is  loyally  spoken,  and  I  will  not  ask  of 
you  what  you  have  no  right  to  give,  but  tell  me 
now,  have  you  seen  a  band  of  free  lances  pass 
this  way  ? " 

"That  I  have,"  replied  the  boy.  "Sir  Ever- 
hard  Breakspear,  I  think,  and  two  hundred  of 
the  Free  Companions." 

"  And  which  way  did  they  go." 

"  Northward,  towards  St.  Claire." 

"And  the  castle  they  attack  will  need  a  stout 
defence,"  said  the  knight ;  "  but  I  would  I  were 
there  to  help  defend  it ;  for  I  have  made  a  vow 
to  rest  neither  day  nor  night  until  I  have 


164     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

avenged  upon  the  Free  Companions  the  death 
of  my  brother  in  arms." 

As  Gilbert  hears  these  words  he  feels  sure 
that  the  knight  is  a  friend,  so  he  frankly  tells 
that  he  is  bound  to  Montain  to  seek  help 
against  these  same  free  lances  for  his  lord,  Sir 
Roland,  besieged  in  St.  Claire. 

"  Then,  my  brave  boy,"  says  the  knight,  "  I, 
who  am  a  knight  errant,  seeking  adventure  and 
honor  in  all  places  where  danger  leads  me,  will 
also  go  with  you  to  Montain,  and  there  join  such 
succors  as  may  go  to  Sir  Roland's  assistance." 

And  Gilbert  gladly  accepts  the  protection  of 
the  unknown  knight,  and  is  about  to  take  his 
place  behind  the  squire  when  the  knight  says, 
"  Nay,  but  ride  beside  me,  that  I  may  ask  of 
thee  tidings  of  thy  lord  and  of  the  Lady  Mar- 
garet, too,  for  of  old  I  have  fought  beside  Sir 
Roland  in  the  Holy  Land,  and  the  fair  Lady 
Margaret  has  made  me  welcome  after  battle, 
and  herself  dressed  for  me  this  sword-cut  across 
my  cheek." 

They  reach  Montain  without  further  adven- 
ture, and  the  wandering  knight  blows  such  a 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  165 

blast  upon  his  horn  that  the  warder  opens  the 
wicket,  and  demands  quickly, — 

"Who  comes  thus  after  nightfall  to  the  castle 
of  Montain?" 

"  A  messenger  from  St.  Claire,"  answers  the 
knight,  "and  a  knight  errant  and  old  companion 
of  Roland  of  St.  Claire  and  Fitz-Hamo  of  Mon- 
tain." 

Then  the  drawbridge  is  let  down,  and  the 
travellers  ride  into  the  courtyard  where  the 
flaring  torchlight  shines  on  many  a  shield  and 
spear. 

Lord  Robert  Fitz-Hamo  comes  out  from  the 
dark  arched  doorway  to  welcome  his  guests, 
and  the  knight  thrusts  forward  young  Gilbert. 

"Do  thine  errand,  my  lad,"  he  says;  "a  faith- 
ful messenger  has  the  first  right  to  speak  his 
lord's  message." 

"  Lord  Roland  of  St.  Claire  greets  thee  by 
me,"  said  the  boy  to  Fitz  Hamo,  "and  bids  me 
summon  you,  by  the  vows  of  friendship  which 
bind  you  to  him,  to  come  as  quickly  as  may  be 
to  his  assistance,  for  Sir  Everhard  Breakspear, 
with  two  hundred  lances,  lays  siege  to  St.  Claire, 


1 66     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NO IV. 

for  the  rescue  of  his  kinsman,  the  traitor,  Sir 
Tristan." 

"  I  will  come,"  cries  Fitz  Hamo ;  "  to-morrow's 
dawn  shall  see  me  on  the  way,  with  a  hundred 
good  lances  behind  me." 

"And  now,  my  old  comrade,"  he  exclaims, 
turning  to  the  knight,  "  thou  art  thrice  welcome, 
—  as  my  friend  and  comrade  in  many  a  fight  with 
the  Saracens,  as  my  guest  for  to-night,  and  my 
companion  for  to-morrow." 

"  We  will  spend  the  night  in  preparation,  and 
this  boy,  who  has  been  a  faithful  messenger, 
shall  have  rest  and  good  cheer,  that  he  may  re- 
turn with  us  to-morrow." 

I  would  gladly  tell  you  of  the  speedy  journey 
next  day ;  and  how,  reaching  the  woods  of  St. 
Claire  at  nightfall,  Gilbert  left  his  horse,  and,  with 
swift,  stealthy  step,  passed  through  the  camp 
of  the  besiegers,  and  reached  the  little  postern 
gate,  gained  admittance,  and  laid  before  Sir 
Roland  the  mode  of  attack  that  his  friends  had 
planned ;  how,  in  the  morning,  the  besiegers 
heard  the  shout  of  "  Montain  !  Montain  ! "  in 
their  rear,  just  as  the  castle  gates  were  thrown 


THE  STORY  OF  GILBERT.  1 6? 

open  for  a  sudden  sally  of  knights,  shouting, 
"  St.  Claire  !  St.  Claire  !  " 

But  all  this  will  not  much  concern  our  boys. 
You  would  rather  hear  how  they  went  the  next 
month  to  the  great  tournament  at  Chalons, 
where  they  did  homage  to  the  king ;  and,  be- 
sides seeing  much  gallant  play  with  lance  and 
sword,  carried  many  a  ribbon  or  broidered  scarf 
from  fair  lady  to  brave  knight,  and  served  at 
many  a  feast  in  silken  pavilion. 

And  you  will  gladly  hear  how  Sir  Richard 
Britto  came  to  St.  Claire,  true  to  his  promise, 
and  found  his  young  hostage,  Edward,  safe 
and  happy  among  the  other  pages,  and  kindly 
cared  for  by  the  Lady  Margaret.  How  Sir  Ro- 
land ransomed  Sir  Richard  for  ten  thousand 
crowns ;  and  how  Sir  Richard  took  the  boy 
home  to  his  lady  mother,  whom  he  loved,  and 
how,  in  the  long  winter  evenings,  Edward  told 
tales  to  his  brothers  of  Castle  St.  Claire,  and  his 
companions  there. 

You  can  very  well  see  how  Gilbert  will  one 
day  himself  become  a  knight ;  have  his  sword 
blessed  by  the  priest,  watch  his  armor  all  night 


1 68      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

in  the  church,  and  receive  the  accolade  (a  blow 
of  the  sword  upon  his  shoulder)  from  which  he 
rises  Sir  Gilbert. 

Then  he  will  set  out  to  do  deeds  of  valor, 
and  to  win  renown,  and  the  right  to  emblazon 
his  white  shield  with  some  emblem  of  his  vic- 
tories. He  is  a  more  gentle  boy  than  Wulf, 
and  to  the  desire  to  be  a  brave  knight  in  battle 
he  adds  the  wish  to  be  a  courteous  knight  not 
only  to  every  woman  and  helpless  child,  but 
alike  to  friend  and  foe. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  STORY  OF  ROGER,  THE  ENGLISH  LAD,  WHO 
LONGED   TO   SAIL  THE   SPANISH   MAIN. 

"  To  give  place  for  wandering  is  it 

That  the  world  was  made  so  wide" 

"  I  saw  three  ships  come  sailing  in, 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day, 
I  saw  three  ships  come  sailing  in 
On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

"  Pray  whither  sailed  those  ships  all  three  ? 
On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day, 
Pray  whither  sailed  those  ships  all  three  ? 
On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

169 


I/O      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

"  Oh,  they  sailed  into  Bethlehem, 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day, 
Oh,  they  sailed  into  Bethlehem 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

"  And  all  the  bells  on  earth  shall  ring, 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christinas  Day, 
And  all  the  souls  on  earth  shall  sing 
On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

"Then  let  us  all  rejoice  amain, 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day, 
Then  let  us  all  rejoice  amain, 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning." 

So  sang  the  boys,  standing  on  the  little  green 
before  the  rector's  door,  just  as  the  Christmas 
morning  sunshine  touched  the  old  church  tower, 
hung  thick  with  ivy.  And  the  rector,  in  his 
white  wig  and  thick  woollen  wrapper,  came  out 
into  the  porch  to  give  them  his  Christmas  bless- 
ing and  kindly  wishes  in  return  for  their  carol. 

Yesterday  these  boys  had  helped  to  strew  the 
church  floor  with  rushes,  and  then  they  had  pulled 
with  a  will  on  the  Yule  log  that  Jonas  and  Giles 
were  hauling  in  from  the  woods  for  the  grand 
Yule  blaze  at  evening. 

And  they  had  searched  the  woods  for  mistle- 


THE  STORY  OF  ROGER.  I /I 

toe  to  hang  from  the  broad  beam  that  crossed 
the  ceiling  of  the  sitting-room.  But  when  their 
sister  Alice  came  in  she  said,  "  Hang  it  in  the 
doorway,  where  all  must  pass  under  it." 

You  see  there  were  merry  Christmases  in 
those  days,  even  if  there  were  no  stockings 
to  be  hung,  nor  Christmas-trees  to  be  decked 
out  with  candles  and  gifts. 

And  after  a  merry  Christmas  eve,  the  boys 
were  up  before  the  Christmas  sun,  to  sing  their 
carol  at  the  rector's  door,  and  then  go  to  morn- 
ing service  in  the  ivy-covered  church  before 
beginning  their  sports. 

Among  these  boys  was  Roger  Barker,  the 
merchant's  son,  —  a  tall,  strong  lad  of  twelve 
years  old. 

As  he  sings,  with  his  clear,  young  voice,  of 
the  ships  that  come  sailing  in,  he  is  not  thinking 
so  much  of  Bethlehem  and  Christmas  blessings 
as  of  the  ships  that  he  watches,  day  after  day, 
as  they  sail  in  or  out  of  Plymouth  harbor,  bound 
now  to  Spain,  or  Africa,  or  again  to  the  far- 
away American  shores.  For  all  this  boy's  heart 
is  upon  the  sea,  and  even  the  words  of  his 


1/2      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

Christmas  carol  have  carried  him  far  away  from 
church  and  rector  and  schoolmates,  to  some 
wild,  adventurous  voyage,  far,  far  away  west- 
ward. 

He  is  a  merchant's  son.  His  father's  ships 
have  brought  velvets,  silks,  and  cloth  of  gold 
from  the  Levant,  perfumes  and  spices  from  the 
East  Indies,  and  furs  from  Russia ;  and  it  was 
only  last  week  that  the  little  bark  Dainty 
arrived  from  South  America,  that  wonderful  new 
world,  with  a  cargo  of  sugar,  tobacco,  and  bata- 
tas (potatoes)  for  planting  in  the  spring ;  for  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  has  wisely  said  that  this  goodly 
vegetable,  as  sweet  as  a  chestnut,  and  nourish- 
ing withal,  may  grow  in  English  and  Irish  soil 
as  well  as  in  the  new  world. 

Do  you  realize  that  among  all  the  six  boys 
whose  stories  we  have  heard,  not  one  has  ever 
heard  of  America.  Roger  is  the  first ;  no  mar- 
vel that  it  is  a  wonderland  to  him. 

Each  morning  he  takes  his  satchel  of  books 
and  his  slate,  and  goes  to  school ;  but  he  longs 
to  change  his  scholar's  cap  and  gown  for  a  sailor's 
jacket  and  loose  trousers,  and  be  off  to  discover 


THE  STORY  OF  ROGER.  1/3 

new  worlds,  to  fight  the  Spaniards,  and  to  bring 
home  pearls  and  gold  and  honors. 

Would  you  like  to  go  with  this  unwilling 
scholar  and  take  a  peep  into  his  school  ?  See 
how  the  boys  flock  in  and  take  their  seats  on 
the  long  wooden  benches,  much  hacked  and 
worn,  but  good  enough,  for  boys  in  those  days 
were  not  used  to  comfort  and  ease,  either  in 
school  or  at  home. 

See  that  row  of  little  fellows  with  their  horn 
books,  studying  their  reading  lessons. 

I  wish  the  little  children  whom  I  see  to-day 
learning  to  read  from  primers  made  attractive 
by  pretty  pictures  could  see  a  horn  book,  the 
primer  from  which  Roger  had  learned  to  read, 
and  which  his  little  brother  is  studying  now. 

As  you  can't  see  one,  I  must  try  to  describe 
it  for  you.  It  was  a  single  printed  leaf,  with  the 
alphabet  in  large  and  small  letters,  a  few  col- 
umns of  monosyllables,  and,  below,  the  Lord's 
Prayer.  This  leaf,  lest  it  should  be  torn,  was 
set  in  a  little  wooden  frame,  and  it  was  covered 
with  a  thin  slice  of  horn,  — 

"  To  save  from  fingers  wet  the  letters  fair." 


1/4      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

It  had  a  handle  in  which  was  a  hole  for  a 
string,  that  it  might  hang  from  the  belt  or  round 
the  neck. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  alphabet  was  a  cross  ; 
from  which  the  children  came  to  call  their  alpha 
bets,  and  indeed  the  horn  book  itself,  the  "  Christ 
Cross  Row,"  or  "  Criss  Cross  Row."  So  these 
little  fellows,  if  you  ask  them  what  they  are 
doing,  will  probably  tell  you  that  they  are  learn- 
ing their  "  Criss  Cross  Row." 

Upon  the  master's  desk  stands  the  hour-glass 
by  which  the  lesson  hours  are  to  be  regulated, 
and  at  the  desk  sits  the  master,  with  cane  ready 
to  punish  the  slightest  fault  or  failure  with  a 
blow ;  for  most  boys  had  their  lessons  flogged 
into  them,  and  took  this  mode  of  learning  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

Here  Roger  studies  grammar  and  reading  and 
writing,  and  Latin  always  and  before  all  other 
studies,  as  most  needed  for  a  well-taught  man, 
and  the  time  has  come,  at  last,  when  a  mer- 
chant's son  may  have  learning  as  well  as  a  gen- 
tleman's son. 

For   books   he   has,   first,   "  A   grammar   set 


THE  STORY  OF  ROGER.  1/5 

forth  by  King  Henrie  eighth,  of  noble  memory, 
and  continued  in  the  time  of  Edward  sixth." 

For  her  gracious  majesty  the  queen  has 
proclaimed  that  "this  grammar,  and  none  other, 
shall  be  taught  by  every  school-master." 

Then  he  has  already  begun  to  read  in  Latin 
verse  the  noble  deeds  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  a 
school  book  from  which  he  is  to  learn,  not  only 
Latin  but  also  loyalty,  that  first  and  the  greatest 
lesson  for  every  Englishman. 

Two  years  ago,  having  finished  the  horn  book, 
he  had  slowly  and  toilsomely  read  through 
"The  Seven  Wise  Masters,"  and  having  by  that 
means  learned  to  read  any  simple  story  in 
English,  he  has  made  the  most  of  the  few  story- 
books that  have  come  in  his  way. 

He  can  tell  you  the  tales  of  King  Arthur  and 
his  knights  ;  and  "  Sir  Bevis  of  Southampton," 
"  Adam  Bel,  Clym  o'  the  Clough,  and  William  of 
Cloudsley,"  are  as  familiar  to  him  as  are  the 
stories  of  Robin  Hood  ;  for  all  these  merry  tales 
he  has  heard  at  the  May-day  revels  ever  since 
he  was  old  enough  to  dance  round  the  May-pole. 

His  arithmetic  he  will  have  to  learn  by  hard 


I?         TfIE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO   TO  NOW. 

experience ;  and  his  geography  he  will  pick  up 
from  every  sailor  that  comes  into  port. 

Roger  does  not  greatly  delight  in  the  study 
of  Latin.  He  says  to  himself,  though  he  does 
not  dare  to  say  it  to  his  father,  "  Sir  Francis 
Drake  never  studied  Latin,  and  he  is  the  great- 
est man  in  all  England.  Will  studying  Latin 
teach  me  to  sail  round  the  world  as  he  has 
done  ? " 

Roger's  elder  brother,  John,  has  himself 
sailed  round  the  world  with  Drake,  and  is  even 
now  gone  on  another  voyage  to  the  Spanish 
main  with  his  adored  captain ;  and  the  one 
thought  and  hope  of  the  younger  brother  is  to 
do  likewise.  He  would  far  rather  linger  about 
the  wharves  and  watch  the  shipping,  than  join  in 
any  sport.  For  he  loves  all  craft  that  sail 
the  seas,  and  whether  it  be  a  wine-brig  from 
Bordeaux,  a  hoy  from  the  Scheldt,  or  merely 
a  Plymouth  smack  fishing  the  Channel  for 
herring,  he  watches  the  sails  out  of  sight,  and 
his  fancy  follows  them  far  beyond  the  horizon. 

But  better  than  Iceland  fishing  fleet,  or  wine- 
brig,  or  Flushinger,  is  the  sight  of  a  ship  fitted 


THE  STORY  OF  ROGER.  177 

ouc  by  some  gallant  gentlemen  for  a  venture  to 
the  New  World,  or  a  brush  with  the  Spaniards 
on  the  seas  which  they  have  proudly  christened 
"the  Spanish  Main."  But  why  Spanish. 

We  may  well  say,  as  did  the  French  king 
when  he  heard  their  boastful  claim,  "  I  should 
like  to  see  father  Adam's  will,  before  I  will 
believe  that  the  sea  belongs  to  the  Spaniards." 

When  Roger  was  a  little  lad,  eight  years  old, 
he  saw  the  Golden  Hind  come  into  port.  The 
Golden  Hind,  hardly  bigger  than  many  a  plea- 
sure yacht  that  you  have  seen,  which,  under 
Drake's  bold  command,  had  felt  its  way  through 
the  Straits  1  across  the  wide  Pacific  to  the  East 
Indies,  and  home  by  way  of  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,  bringing  gold-dust,  silver,  pearls,  emer- 
alds, and  diamonds  taken  from  his  prize,  the 
great  Spanish  galleon  that  sailed  once  a  year 
from  Lima  to  Cadiz. 

And  he  had  listened  with  wonder  and  admira- 
tion to  his  brother's  tales  of  Indians  and  trop- 
ical fruits,  spices,  and  gold  and  pearls ;  and, 

1  The  Straits  of  Magellan  were  usually  spoken  of  as  "  the 
Straits." 


1/8      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

always  and  everywhere,  mixed  in  with  every 
story,  the  cruelties  of  the  Spaniards,  who  were 
claiming  for  themselves  seas,  continents,  and 
islands,  and  conquering  the  helpless  natives 
with  severity  past  telling. 

And  Spain  has  even  insolently  forbiddden 
Englishmen  to  cross  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  for 
was  not  the  New  World  discovered  by  Colum- 
bus and  taken  possession  of  for  the  King  of 
Spain  ? 

Oh !  how  this  boy's  heart  leaps  up  when  he 
thinks  of  it ;  for  he  has  been  taught,  as  you  all 
well  know,  that  the  sea  is  a  free  roadway  for  all 
the  nations  of  the  earth. 

Roger  has  been  born  in  a  wonderful  time.  I 
almost  wish  I  could  have  lived  in  it  myself ;  for 
there  is  his  old  grandfather  sitting  in  the  great 
oak  chair  in  the  chimney  corner,  who  can  tell 
him  truly  that,  when  he  was  a  boy,  no  sailors 
had  dared  sail  far  out  of  sight  of  land,  lest  they 
should  come  to  the  edge  of  the  world  and  fall 
over,  "  For  who  then  believed  there  was  any- 
thing but  pilchards  to  be  found  west  of  the 
Land's  End  ?  "  said  the  old  man. 


THE  STORY  OF  ROGER. 

And  now  it  seemed  as  if  the  old  world  itself 
was  longing  to  move  westward  to  reach  the 
new,  so  many  were  the  gallant  captains  and  the 
brave  sailors  who  faced  dangers  in  unknown 
seas  and  among  unknown  savages  ;  and  liked 
nothing  better  than  what  they  called  "  a  brush 
with  the  Spaniards,"  and  a  chance  to  fall  in 
with  the  plate  (gold  and  silver)  fleet  on  its  way 
from  South  America  to  Spain. 

So  you  see  the  boy's  mind  must  needs  be  full 
of  the  sea  and  the  Spaniards,  and  you  do  not 
wonder  that  I  have  called  him,  in  the  title  of 
this  chapter,  "the  boy  who  longed  to  sail  the 
Spanish  Main." 

But  you  ought  to  know  something  more  of 
him  besides  this  great  longing,  which,  I  promise 
you,  will  one  day  be  gratified.  So  I  will  tell 
you  some  of  the  common  facts  of  his  daily  life, 
what  he  wears,  and  eats  and  drinks,  and  how  he 
lives. 

How  odd  his  cloth  stockings  would  look  to 
you,  and  his  scholar's  cap  and  gown,  compared 
to  your  own  trim  suits  ;  but  knitted  or  woven 
stockings  were  so  uncommon  in  those  days  that 


ISO     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

the  queen  herself  had  just  received  a  present  oi 
her  first  pair,  and  she  was  so  pleased  with  them 
that  she  resolved  for  the  future  to  wear  no  more 
cloth  stockings. 

He  sees  the  fine  gentlemen  in  the  streets, 
with  their  velvet  hats  and  feathers  fastened 
with  clasps  of  gold  and  jewels,  the  long,  curling 
lovelock  tied  with  ribbon,  and  the  rose  behind 
the  ear,  the  trunk  hose,  velvet  tunic  with 
slashed  sleeves  and  lace  ruffles,  and  swords  by 
their  sides. 

And  every  day,  on  his  way  to  school,  he 
passes  the  barber's  shop  of  Walter,  the  love- 
locker,  and  that  of  Nicholas  the  tailor  at  the 
sign  of  the  Needle,  and  he  sees  the  shopmen, 
with  goods  displayed,  crying  to  the  passers-by, 
"  What  do  ye  lack  ?  " 

He  meets  the  farmers'  sons  in  their  russet 
clothes,  and  knows  well  that  the  law  allows 
them  to  wear  no  other ;  and  that,  if  a  farmer  or 
tradesman  should  cover  his  head  with  a  velvet 
cap,  the  law  would  quickly  take  it  off  him. 

When  his  father  has  occasion  to  go  out  of 
an  evening,  he  wears,  if  the  streets  are  muddy, 


THE  STORY  OF  ROGER.  l8l 

his  pattens,  made  of  ash-wood  rimmed  with  iron, 
and  a  servant  lad  runs  before  him  with  a  lan- 
tern, for  the  streets  are  neither  paved  nor 
lighted,  nor  over-safe  from  robbers. 

At  his  father's  table  there  are  pewter  plates 
instead  of  the  wooden  ones  which  his  grandfather 
used,  and  the  pretty  wooden  bowls  of  bird's 
eye  maple  are  rimmed  with  silver,  but  there  are 
no  forks  to  eat  with,  "which  is  to  be  regretted," 
says  a  foreigner,  writing  of  those  days  in  Eng- 
land, "  since  all  men's  fingers  are  not  equally 
clean." 

On  the  table  we  see  good  roast  beef  and  mut- 
ton and  venison,  but  a  potato  is  a  rare  luxury. 
Roger  has  tasted  it  but  once  in  his  life. 

There  is  plenty  of  milk,  but  neither  tea  nor 
coffee,  for,  as  yet,  these  drinks  have  never  been 
heard  of  in  England,  and  great  cans  of  ale  are 
on  the  table  at  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper,  — 
siipper,  not  tea,  of  course,  for  no  one  would  know 
what  you  meant  if  you  should  invite  him  to  tea. 

His  father's  house  has  its  second  story  pro- 
jecting over  the  street,  thus  making  the  upper 
rooms  larger  and  lighter  than  the  lower  ones. 


1 82      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

In  the  upper  front  room  stands  a  great  chest 
shaped  like  a  toy  Noah's  ark.  It  is  made  oli 
oak  wood,  and  is  already  dark  with  age,  for  it 
has  belonged  to  his  father's  father,  and  perhaps 
to  ancestors  still  more  remote.  It  is  the  family 
treasure-chest,  and  holds  many  a  goodly  cloth, 
many  a  jewel  and  silver  cup,  rich  with  Spanish 
workmanship.  And  there  are  Spanish  dollars 
in  it  too,  for  Spain  supplies  the  whole  trading 
world  with  current  coin. 

If  our  boy  would  know  what  time  it  is,  he 
runs  out  to  the  old  sun-dial  that  stands  on  the 
terrace,  and  throws  its  shadow  upon  a  circle 
marked  in  clock-fashion.  He  has  indeed  heard 
of  watches,  and  seen  one  at  a  distance,  in  the 
hands  of  a  gentleman  of  the  court,  who  stopped 
the  other  day  at  the  Blue  Lion  tavern,  to  rest 
himself  and  his  horses  after  his  hard  ride  from. 
London. 

The  Blue  Lion  itself  would  be  a  curiosity  to 
you  and  me,  with  its  great,  swinging  sign-board, 
whereon  is  painted  a  wondrous  blue  lion,  such 
as  no  man  has  ever  seen  alive,  and  its  bustling 
landlord  brewing  a  tankard  of  sack  for  his  noble 
guest. 


THE  STORY  OF  ROGER.  183 

Roger  takes  occasion  to  pass  the  Blue  Lion 
as  often  as  he  can  on  his  way  to  and  from 
school,  for  many  is  the  gallant  gentleman,  or  the 
sturdy  sea-captain  that  may  be  seen  sitting  in 
its  bay-window,  and  talking  of  bold  adventures 
or  Spanish  sea-fight,  or  of  trade  with  Cathay. 
Search  your  whole  map  over  and  you  will  not 
find  the  name  Cathay  ;  for  what  was  then  called 
Cathay  is  now  called  China. 

Telling  you  to  search  your  maps  reminds  me 
of  the  maps  that  Roger  has  seen.  Never  a  map 
of  the  whole  world, — those  eastern  and  west- 
ern hemispheres  so  familiar  to  you,  — and  only 
once,  a  strange  sort  of  map  of  Africa,  which  a 
ship-master  was  exhibiting  at  the  Blue  Lion, 
to  some  of  his  friends. 

It  was  a  copy  of  a  curious  chart  made  by  a 
seaman  who  had  been  pilot  for  brave  Christo- 
pher Columbus,  and  on  it  he  had  drawn  castles 
and  ships,  strange  men  and  beasts,  and  sea- 
coasts  and  rivers  so  oddly  intermixed,  that  one 
needs  the  carefully  written  name,  Africa,  in  the 
corner,  to  help  imagine  the  possible  country  it 
is  intended  to  represent. 


184      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO   TO  NOW. 

But  to  Roger  it  was  a  land  of  wonders,  and 
he  believed  in  every  castle  and  gold-clad  em- 
peror there.  From  this  map,  and  from  a  great 
white  horn  ( perhaps  not  unlike  the  horn  that 
Salvation  Yeo  gave  to  Amyas  Leigh )  on  which 
were  traced  the  voyages  to  the  Indies,  East  and 
West,  Roger  had  received  all  his  map  lessons, 
and  we  must  not  wonder  if  he  held  some 
rather  curious  notions  of  the  world  and  its  coun- 
tries and  people.  He  believes  in  mermaids  and 
dragons  ;  and  he  knows  an  old  sailor,  Simon 
Johnson,  who  wears  in  his  bosom  an  agate  stone, 
by  which  he  keeps  himself  safe  from  the  bite  of 
the  most  deadly  serpent.  And  this  same  Simon 
Johnston  was  with  Sebastian  Cabot,  up  the 
river  La  Plata,  where  serpents  most  venomous 
are  plenty,  and  his  agate  must  have  saved  him, 
for  there  he  sits  with  his  pot  of  ale  on  the  bench 
outside  the  door  of  the  Blue  Lion,  and  tells  to 
the  boys  all  sorts  of  wondrous  stories. 

If  you  doubt  about  the  dragons,  and  the 
rooms  full  of  gold  and  silver,  Roger  will  answer 
you,  "But,  Simon  Johnson  has  seen  them." 

Just  now  there  was  some  talk  among  his  play- 


THE  STORY  OF  ROGER.  185 

mates  about  mermaids,  and  Roger  promptly  set- 
tled all  doubts  by  saying,  "  There  are  mermaids, 
for  Simon  Johnson  has  seen  one,"  and  he  led 
the  way  to  the  old  man's  seat  in  the  sunny  door- 
way, that  he  might  have  his  statement  proved 
true. 

"  Yes,  I  seed  mun  with  my  own  eyes,"  said 
old  Simon.  "  It  was  when  I  was  a  sailing  the 
South  Seas.  Her  yellow  hair  floated  abroad 
over  the  water,  and  her  head  bobbed  up  and 

m 

down  as  if  a  beckoning  of  us.  And  the  Spanish 
prisoner  we  had  on  board,  he  crossed  hisself  and 
called  upon  the  saints  to  save  him ;  but  the  rest 
of  us  just  kept  our  eyes  on  mun,  until  she  sunk 
away  out  of  sight,  with  naught  but  her  yellow 
hair  a  beckoning  and  a  beckoning  still  to  the 
last." 

The  boys  listened  in  wonder,  and  believed 
every  word  of  old  Simon's  story ;  and  I  think 
the  old  man  himself  believed  it  too. 

One  of  Roger's  gayest  holidays  is  May  Day. 

I  dare  say  you  children  go  a  Maying  your- 
selves ;  but  in  these  old  days  in  England,  not 
only  the  children,  but  also  their  fathers  and 


1 86      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

mothers,  were  up  at  early  dawn  on  May  Day,  to 
deck  the  house  door-way  with  blossoming  haw- 
thorn, and  trim  the  May-pole  with  garlands  of 
flowers  ;  for  there  were  May-poles  on  the  greens 
of  all  villages  and  towns,  and  even  in  the 
squares  of  London  itself. 

And  among  the  young  men  there  had  been 
a  rivalry  for  months  as  to  who  was  the  best 
archer,  and  should  represent  Robin  Hood  in 
the  May  games.  For  Robin  Hood  was  king 
of  the  May,  and  with  him  came  Maid  Marian, 
and  Little  John  and  Friar  Tuck ;  and  there 
were  morris  dancers,  with  tinkling  bells  at 
knee  and  elbow  ;  and  there  was  the  prancing 
hobby-horse,  and  the  bellowing  dragon,  to  re- 
mind the  English  boys  of  the  famous  old  story 
of  St.  George  and  the  dragon,  and  teach,  them 
the  meaning  of  the  grand  old  battle-cry,  "  St. 
George  for  merrie  England  !  "  and  merrie  Eng- 
land indeed  it  was  in  those  days. 

At  the  Blue  Lion,  Roger  sees  one  day  a  sight 
that  delights  while  it  terrifies  him ;  the  great 
fire-breathing  captain,  who  has  sailed  to  the 
other  side  of  the  world,  and,  as  the  boys  firmly 


THE  STORY  OF  ROGER.  1 87 

believe,  has  seen  headless  men  and  flying  drag- 
ons. You  would  laugh  at  him  and  say,  "  Fire- 
breathing^  indeed  !  It  is  only  a  man  smoking  a 
cigar  ! " 

But  the  world  is  full  of  wonders  for  this  boy ; 
even  a  newspaper,  so  common  a  sight  to  us  all, 
is  a  wonder  to  him,  for  it  is  but  just  now  that 
the  English  Mercury,  filled  with  news  many 
weeks  old,  of  Spaniards,  and  trading  voyages, 
and  fights  upon  land  or  sea,  is  published  once 
or  twice  a  week,  and  sent  by  foot  or  horsemen 
to  the  principal  cities  of  the  kingdom. 

When  he  goes  with  his  companions  for  a  long 
ramble  out  on  the  broad  fields  and  downs,  they 
step  aside  with  care  if  they  chance  upon  those 
mushroom  rings  which  the  pixies  ( as  they  call 
the  fairies)  have  made  for  their  midnight 
dances.  And  if  you  or  I  should  try  to  tell  him 
that  there  are  really  no  pixies  or  fairies,  he 
would  not  believe  us.  He  knows  better  than 
that,  and  here  he  can  show  us  the  dancing  rings 
to  prove  the  truth. 

He  believes,  too,  that  if  he  could  be  so  fortun- 
ate as  to  gather  fern-seed  on  St.  John's  Eve, — the 


188      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

only  time  in  the  whole  year,  according  to  fairy 
lore,  when  the  fern  produces  seed,  —  he  could 
walk  invisible  among  his  companions. 

But  now  I  must  tell  you  how  Roger  went 
with  his  father  to  London,  riding  behind  the 
servant  on  horseback,  and  spending  two  or 
three  nights  at  the  inns  in  Exeter,  Taunton, 
and  other  fine  old  towns  by  the  way. 

"  The  lad  may  as  well  begin  to  learn  what  the 
world  is  like,"  said  his  father,  "  and  there  is  no 
school  better  than  experience." 

At  last,  after  nightfall  of  the  sixth  day,  they 
reached  London,  and  found  themselves  on  paved 
streets,  with  here  and  there  a  lantern  to  make 
darkness  visible. 

They  put  up  at  a  famous  inn,  called  the  "  Bel 
Savage,"  and  were  just  in  time  to  witness  one 
of  those  pageants  of  which  Queen  Elizabeth 
and  her  people  were  so  fond.  For  the  Queen 
was  coming  down  the  river  from  Westminster  in 
her  barge,  and  was  to  be  received  by  a  proces- 
sion of  merchants  and  tradespeople. 

Across  the  street,  near  the  inn,  an  arch  had 
been  erected,  surmounted  by  a  model  of  a  ship 


THE  STORY  OF  ROGER.  189 

under  full  sail,  with  a  motto,  "  The  Commerce 
of  England.  Her  merchants  serve  and  honor 
their  queen." 

How  proud  Roger  was  to  stand  beside  his 
father  and  pull  off  his  cap  and  shout,  when  the 
cry,  "  The  Queen,  the  Queen  !  "  sounded  down 
the  street ;  and  the  stately  lady,  with  enormous 
ruff  and  jewelled  head-dress,  sitting  in  a  carriage 
drawn  by  white  horses,  paused  under  the  arch- 
way and  let  the  procession  pass  slowly  before 
her,  while  a  little  lad,  no  bigger  than  Roger 
himself,  decked  with  flags  and  rare  devices  to 
suggest  foreign  lands,  dropped  on  one  knee 
and  craved  permission  to  introduce  to  her  Ma- 
jesty the  characters  as  they  passed. 

The  permission  being  graciously  granted,  first 
came  her  Majesty's  imports  from  Cathay,  spread 
open  to  view  by  a  curiously  grotesque  Chinaman, 
and  followed  by  Manila,  with  sugar  and  spices, 
in  the  person  of  a  real  little  East  Indian  boy, 
page  to  the  Countess  of  Essex,  brought  home 
by  Master  Cavendish  when  he  sailed  up  the 
Thames  with  the  famous  silken  sails  displayed. 
Then  came  fruits  and  damasks  and  rich  rugs 


19°     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

from  the  Levant,  and  furs  from  Russia,  and  the 
woollens  of  the  Flemish  weavers,  and  their  lovely 
laces  too.  But  the  crowning  wonder  of  all  was 
the  American  Indian,  with  beaver  skins,  and 
ores,  supposed  to  be  silver  and  gold ;  and  the 
inscription  "  Virginia  to  the  Virgin  Queen  ; " 
for  Raleigh  had  received  his  grant  of  land  in 
the  new  world,  and  named  it  in  honor  of  his 
sovereign. 

I  must  not  tell  you  more,  for  already  you  have 
heard  enough  to  make  you  realize  how  different 
is  Roger's  life  from  your  own  ;  and  you  can 
read,  in  books  of  history,  of  voyages  to  the  New 
World,  and  sea-fights  with  the  Spaniards,  which 
will  tell  you,  better  than  I  can,  how,  before  many 
years,  the  boy  realized  his  dreams  and  satisfied 
his  longings,  and  grew  up  to  be  one  of  those  bold, 
adventurous  Englishmen  who  helped  to  make 
the  New  World 'what  it  is. 

And  so  we  will  leave  Roger,  and  pass  on  to 
to  the  sadder  experiences  of  Ezekiel  Fuller,  the 
Puritan  boy. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE  STORY  OF  EZEKIEL  FULLER,  THE  PURITAN 
BOY  —  DECEMBER  22,  1620. 

"/  count  my  loss  a  gain" 

As  you  read  the  date  at  the  head  of  this  chap- 
ter, you  will  exclaim,  "  Forefathers'  Day ! "  or 
"The  landing  of  the  Pilgrims  !  "  And  what  has 
that  to  do  with  Ezekiel  Fuller  ? 

But  I  did  not  put  that  date  at  the  head  of  the 
chapter  for  the  Pilgrims,  but  for  Ezekiel  himself. 
It  was  his  birthday. 

On  that  same  wintry  day  when  upon  Ply- 
mouth rock  stepped  John  Carver,  William  Brad 
191 


I Q2     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

ford,  old  Elder  Brewster,  valiant  Miles  Standish, 
and  his  young  friend  John  Alden,  William  White 
with  his  wife  beside  him,  and  little  Peregrine  in 
his  arms,  and  many  another  brave  and  true  man 
and  woman  who  helped  to  found  New  England, 
—  on  that  same  wintry  day  was  born  in  Boston, 
Lincolnshire,  England,  a  little  son  to  Ezekiel  and 
Prudence  Fuller.  There  was  much  talk  about 
a  name  for  this  baby.  His  father  proposed 
"  Faint-not,"  or  "  Serve-the-Lord  ;  "  but  his 
mother  objected  to  these  names. 

"  Tf  it  be  the  Lord's  will,  the  boy  will  serve 
Him,  by  whatever  name  he  is  called,"  she  said  ; 
"and,  to  my  mind,  a  father's  name  is  good  and 
suitable  for  a  son.  Let  him  be  called  Ezekiel, 
which,  besides  being  your  own  name,  is  that  of 
a  prophet  of  the  Lord,  who  served  Him  through 
much  tribulation,  as  we  ourselves  arc  like  to  do." 

On  the  other  hand  the  father  replied,  "  Look 
at  your  cousin  Thorsby ;  did  he  not  name  his 
boy  Zeal-for-Truth,  and  has  not  the  youth 
grown  up  worthy  of  the  name  he  bears  ?  In 
these  troublous  times  we  ought  to  bear  our  tes- 
timony even  in  our  names." 


THE  STORY  OF  EZEKIEL   FULLER.        193 

But,  after  all,  the  mother's  wish  prevailed,  and 
the  boy  was  Ezekiel  Fuller,  like  his  father  and 
grandfather  before  him.  He  was  born,  as  I  told 
you,  on  the  very  day  when  the  Pilgrims  landed 
at  Plymouth,  but  the  news  of  that  landing  did 
not  reach  England  until  the  next  year,  when  the 
Mayflower  returned,  bringing  sad  tidings  of 
sickness  and  death  among  the  little  band,  but 
not  one  word  of  discouragement  or  despon- 
dency, and  not  one  man,  woman,  or  child  return- 
ing to  England. 

Among  these  Pilgrims  was  an  uncle  of  our 
little  boy,  and  as  year  after  year  went  by,  the 
Mayflower,  the  Ann,  the  Little  James,  or  the 
Lions  Whelp  undertook  that  long  and  perilous 
voyage  across  the  Atlantic,  and  returned  bringing 
letters  from  the  colonists  to  their  friends  in 
England.  So  Ezekiel  heard  of  the  little  town 
growing  up  in  that  far-away  new  world,  and  he 
felt  sure  that  it  would  not  be  long  before  his 
father  too  would  sail  away  from  the  troubles 
that  beset  him,  to  secure  peace  of  mind  and 
freedom  amid  the  hardships  of  that  wilderness. 

For  already,  before  he  was  ten  years  old,  he 


194      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

has  seen  his  father  led  away  to  jail  and  locked 
up  for  many  weeks,  because,  instead  of  attending 
the  church  which  the  king  had  ordered  for  all 
men,  he  preferred  to  hold  a  quiet  meeting  in  his 
own  house  or  that  of  his  neighbor,  where  they 
might  worship  God  in  their  own  way. 

And  when  he  had  cried,  and  said  to  his 
mother,  "  How  shall  we  get  father  back  again ; 
who  will  help  him  ? "  his  mother  had  wiped 
away  her  own  tears  and  answered,  "  It  is  for 
the  cause  of  God  that  he  suffers  ;  do  not  be 
afraid ;  the  Lord  will  take  care  of  him  and  of  us 
too." 

And  then  she  had  called  him  and  his  little 
sister  Patience  to  her  side,  and  taught  them  the 
grand  old  psalm, — 

"  The  Lord  is  both  my  health  and  light 

Shall  men  make  me  dismayed  ? 
Sith  God  doth  give  me  strength  and  might, 
Why  should  I  be  afraid?" 

And  the  child,  young  as  he  was,  began  to  see 
that  life  was  no  playtime,  but  a  very  serious 
matter  indeed. 

To  be  thoroughly  in  earnest  about  everything 


THE  STORY  OF  EZEfCIEL   FULLER.        1 95 

he  did  was  one  of  the  first  lessons  Ezekiel 
learned.  His  father  had  told  him  of  his  own 
school-days  when  a  boy  in  London.  He  had 
been  one  of  the  pupils  at  St.  Paul's  School,  and 
had  read  day  after  day  the  motto  painted  upon 
the  school-room  windows,  — 

"EITHER  TEACH,  OR  LEARN,  OR  LEAVE  THE  PLACE." 
A  stern  command  alike  for  teacher  and  oupil. 

There  was  the  same  earnest  idea  of  work  in 
his  own  school,  and  even  his  plays  were  not 
merry  and  gay,  no  dancing  round  May-poles,  no 
Christmas  festivities  for  him. 

If  you  ask  me,  Why  not  ?  I  can  only  answer 
that  ever  since  King  James  had  required  all 
ministers  to  read  from  their  pulpits  an  order 
making  dancing,  archery,  bowling,  and  other 
games  a  regular  occupation  for  Sunday  after- 
noons, his  father,  and  many  another  sober  and 
godly  man,  had  frowned  upon  all  such  pas- 
times, even  upon  week-days  ;  and  when  their 
minister  had  refused  to  read  the  order  from  his 
pulpi^  and  been  turned  out  of  his  church  in 
consequence,  even  the  boys,  who  would,  we  can 
imagine,  like  a  merry  play  as  well  as  any  one, 


196      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

had  valiantly  taken  sides  with  the  persecuted, 
and  willingly  given  up  decking  May-poles  with 
garlands  and  dancing  on  the  green. 

It  is  true  that  when  the  winter  .snows  had 
made  sliding  a  temptation  not  to  be  resisted,  he 
had  made  a  sled  from  an  old  gate,  with  beef 
bones  tied  under  the  corners  for  runners,  and 
had  shouted,  "  Clear  the  way ! "  as  merrily  as 
the  best  of  you,  when  he  came  down  the  long 
hill.  But  for  the  most  part  there  was  but  little 
real  play  for  this  boy,  and  when  he  stood,  with 
his  little  sister  Patience,  at  their  father's  knee, 
by  the  evening  firelight,  and  begged  for  a  story  ; 
it  was  no  fairy  tale  they  heard,  no  romance  of 
brave  knights  and  fair  ladies,  but  a  stern,  sad 
tale  of  the  flight  into  Holland,  or  the  patient 
sufferings  of  men  who  gave  up  houses  and  lands 
and  money  and  friends,  and  all  hope  of  comfort 
or  ease,  for  a  perilous  journey,  and  a  new  home 
in  the  wilderness.  And  they  counted  their  loss 
a  gain,  since  it  left  them  free  to  believe  what 
they  thought  was  the  truth,  and  to  do  what  they 
thought  was  right. 

And  sometimes  he  would  read  to  them  from 


THE  STORY  OF  EZEKIEL   FULLER.        1 97 

a   curious   and  very  interesting  book  that  had 
been  lent  to  him,  — 

"A    JOURNALL    OF    THE    ENGLISH     PLANTATION    AT    PLY- 
MOUTH, IN  NEW  ENGLAND." 

"  Printed  for  John  Bellamie,  and  are  to  be  sold  at  his  shop 
at  the  two  Grayhounds  in  Cornhill  near  the  Royal  Exchange, 
London." 

What  wonder,  with  such  training,  that  the 
little  boy  in  his  plain  doublet  and  hose,  with 
close-cropped  hair,  and  peaked  hat  shading  his 
thoughtful  face,  should  look  more  like  a  little 
old  man  than  like  a  merry  young  lad. 

But  there  were  enough  merry  lads  in  England 
in  those  days ;  lads  whose  fathers  took  their 
sports  of  a  Sunday  afternoon,  and  did  not 
trouble  themselves  about  the  right  and  the 
wrong  of  that,  or  any  other  thing  which  the 
king  had  already  decided  for  them. 

And  these  lads,  in  their  gay  dresses  and  ruffles 
and  laces,  passed  the  Puritan  boy  on  his  way  to 
school,  and  laughed  at  his  sober  dress,  and  some- 
times shouted  after  him,  "  Would  you  like  a 
lodging  in  Boston  jail,  young  Puritan  ? " 

It  was  not  an  easy  life  that  Ezekiel  led. 


1 98      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

One  day  the  merry  lads  came  down  the  street 
in  a  crowd,  following  a  man  in  the  Puritan  dress, 
who  bore  upon  his  cheek  a  mark  branded  by  a 
hot  iron,  and  on  either  side  of  his  head  a  cruel 
scar  where  his  ears  had  been  cut  off. 

And  while  the  boy  looked  and  wondered,  he 
saw  his  father  hasten  out  of  the  house,  take  the 
stranger  by  the  hand,  and,  bidding  him  welcome, 
lead  him  into  his  own  home. 

Ezekiel  followed,  eager  to  know  the  meaning 
of  this  strange  thing,  and  his  father,  calling  him 
to  his  side,  said,  "  Good  Master  Burton,  this  is 
my  little  son,  who  would  fain  see  how  those  who 
serve  the  Lord  can  suffer  in  his  cause.'' 

The  next  day  being  Sunday,  Master  Burton 
was  holding  a  meeting  in  a  small  back  room  of 
the  house,  and  had  just  taken  the  little  Geneva 
Bible  from  his  pocket  and  begun  to  read,  "  He 
that  shall  endure  rinto  the  end,  the  same  shall  be 
saved"  when  the  door  was  broken  open  by  a 
band  of  soldiers,  and  not  only  Master  Burton, 
but  also  Master  Fuller  himself,  was  marched  off 
to  jail,  there  to  await  the  next  sitting  of  the 
court  to  answer  to  the  charge  of  holding  unlaw- 
ful meetings. 


THE  STORY  OF  EZEKIEL  FULLER.        199 

And  so  weary  weeks  passed  by  before  the 
boy  saw  his  father's  face  again.  And  when  he 
came  home  from  the  jail,  worn  and  thin  and  pale 
from  the  long  imprisonment,  his  mind  was  made 
up  to  seek  liberty  for  himself  and  his  household 
in  the  far-distant  New  England. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  land  full  of  savages,  but  no 
savages  could  treat  him  more  cruelly  than  he 
had  already  been  treated. 

And  a  goodly  company  of  his  friends  and 
neighbors,  from  Boston  and  other  parts  of 
Lincolnshire,  as  well  as  from  London  and  Not- 
tingham and  Devonshire,  had,  in  the  great  emi- 
gration of  1630,  sailed  away  to  found  Dorchester 
and  Cambridge  and  Charlestown  and  Boston. 

"  We  will  gc  to  Boston,"  said  Goodman  Fuller, 
as  he  talked  with  his  wife  by  the  fireside,  on 
the  first  night  after  his  release  from  jail ;  while 
the  children,  sitting  on  their  little  wooden  stools 
in  the  chimney  corner,  looked  and  listened,  but 
did  not  dare  to  speak. 

"To  Boston,  because  it  will  be  more  home- 
like, not  only  by  its  name,  but  there  we  shall 
find  old  friends  and  neighbors  who  went  out  last 


200      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

year  with  Mr.  Winthrop.  And,  if  I  have  been 
rightly  informed,  good  Mr.  John  Elliot  has  an 
intention  of  going  thither  himself  next  month  in 
a  ship  called  the  Lyon,  which  is  to  sail  from 
London." 

And  his  wife  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  said, 
"  Truly,  Ezekiel,  I  think  that  the  Lord  calls  us 
to  go,  and  I  am  ready." 

It  was  now  July,  and  the  Lyon  was  to  sail  in 
August,  so  there  was  little  time  for  preparation. 

To  the  boy  it  was  only  a  pleasure  to  help  in 
the  packing  of  the  household  furniture,  and  to 
go  with  his  father  to  buy  a  cow  and  some  goats 
to  be  taken  to  their  new  home. 

Then  came  the  journey  to  London,  a  slow 
progress 'by  the  carrier's  cart,  and  the  stowing 
of  themselves  and  their  goods  on  board  the 
Lyon,  which  had  scarcely  room  for  her  sixty 
passengers  and  their  cattle  and  household  stuff. 
All  this  was  a  delightful  experience  to  Ezekiel, 
as  it  would  be  to  any  boy  of  his  age,  in  these 
days  as  well  as  in  those. 

But,  oh,  what  a  voyage  across  the  Atlantic ! 
For  ten  long  weeks  did  the  Lyon  struggle 


THE  STORY  OF  EZEKIEL  FULLER.       2OI 

through  storms  and  rough  seas  before  the 
friendly  shores  of  new  Boston  welcomed  the 
wanderers  from  old  Boston. 

Ezekiel  has  seen  porpoises  and  whales  and 
great  icebergs,  and  his  father,  standing  beside 
him  on  the  deck,  says,  "See  the  works  of  the 
Lord  and  his  wonders  in  the  deep." 

And  when  they  had  been  many  days  tossed 
about  by  waves  and  winds,  and  at  last  awoke 
one  morning,  and,  climbing  to  the  deck,  saw  the 
beautiful  rosy  light  of  the  dawn  of  a  fair  day, 
shining  over  the  wide,  smooth  waters,  the  boy 
did  not  wonder  that  Mr.  Elliot  opened  his  Bible 
and  read  from  the  Psalms. 

"  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  so  that  the 
waves  are  still." 

Ezekiel  thought  he  had  never  quite  under- 
stood those  words  before,  though  he  had  heard 
them  many  and  many  a  time. 

At  last,  after  weary  watching  for  land,  a  wild 
pigeon  one  day  alights  on  the  mast,  and  they 
know  that  his  home  cannot  be  far  away. 

As  they  enter  Boston  Harbor  they  meet  a 
little  vessel  sailing  out,  and,  hailing  her,  learn 


202      THE  ROAD  FROM  I ONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

that  she  is  The  Blessing  of  the  Bay,  Governor 
Winthrop's  little  bark  of  thirty  tons,  built  soon 
after  he  reached  Boston,  and  bound  now  to 
New  York  to  trade  with  the  Dutch  who  have 
settled  there. 

In  Boston  they  find  both  old  friends  and  new, 
and  as  they  are  well-known  Puritans,  a  piece  of 
land  is  at  once  allotted  to  Goodman  Fuller, 
whereon  he  may  build  him  a  house. 

What  a  strange,  new  life  this  is  for  Ezekiel ! 
For  the  first  few  weeks  he  wants  nothing  better 
than  the  chance  to  look  about  him  ;  but  he  has 
little  opportunity  for  idle  gazing.  A  Puritan 
boy  must  never  be  idle,  least  of  all  a  New  Eng- 
land Puritan,  so  he  is  busy  helping  to  build  the 
house,  to  plant  corn  in  the  spring,  and  to  make 
fences;  so  busy  that  he  hardly  has  time  to  won- 
der at  the  Indians  in  deerskin  garments,  with 
bows  and  arrows,  who  bring  in  fish  and  beaver- 
skins  to  trade  with  the  "  knife  men,"  as  they 
call  the  English. 

One  day  he  goes  with  his  father  and  some 
other  settlers  up  the  Charles  River  to  Beaver 
Brook,  to  visit  the  traps  that  they  have  set  for 


THE  STORY  OF  EZEKIEL   FULLER.       2O3 

beaver ;  there  he  sees  many  great  trees  that 
have  been  gnawed  down  by  the  skilful  animals ; 
and  in  the  traps  two  or  three  beavers,  whose 
skins  will  find  a  good  market  in  London. 

He  has  not  been  many  months  a  New  Eng- 
land boy,-  before  he  is  sent  to  school  to  Master 
Philemon  Pormont,  the  Boston  schoolmaster, 
who  has  been  engaged  by  the  magistrates  to 
teach  the  boys  reading,  writing,  and  ciphering ; 
and  at  school  he  becomes  acquainted  with  some 
Indian  lads,  for  when  the  magistrates  engaged 
the  schoolmaster,  they  made  him  promise  to 
teach  Indians  without  pay. 

Among  these  Indians  is  one  who  bears  the 
curious  name,  "  Know-God,"  and  he  and  Ezekiel 
become  playmates  and  friends.  The  Indian  lad 
teaches  the  English  boy  to  dig  clams  and  mus- 
sels, to  tread  eels  out  of  the  mud,  and  to  snare 
squirrels  and  rabbits  ;  and,  in  return,  Ezekiel 
teaches  him  the  English  names  of  all  common 
objects,  so  that  the  boy  can  soon  make  himself 
so  well  understood  that  he  begins  to  be  useful 
as  an  interpreter. 

One  day  news  comes  that  many   Indians,  a 


204     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

few  miles  back  in  the  forest,  are  very  sick  with 
the  small-pox,  among  them  Sagamore  James,  the 
father  of  little  "  Know-God,"  and  two  weeks 
after,  the  boy  is  brought  into  Boston  by  some 
English  hunters,  a  lonely  orphan,  all  his  family 
having  died  of  the  terrible  disease. 

Then  Ezekiel  begs  his  father  to  take  the 
Indian  lad  into  his  home ;  and,  as  the  elders 
have  already  recommended  that  such  of  the 
colonists  as  are  able  to  do  so  shall  rescue  these 
poor  Indian  children  from  their  wretched  con- 
dition, Goodman  Fuller,  with  the  consent  of  the 
authorities,  takes  the  boy,  promising  to  teach 
him  to  work,  and  to  bring  him  up  in  the  fear  of 
the  Lord. 

One  of  Ezekiel's  greatest  pleasures  is  to  go 
down  to  the  landing  when  a  ship  arrives  from 
England,  or  even  when  one  of  the  little  vessels, 
of  which  the  colony  now  owns  several,  sails  out 
for  whale-catching  at  Cape  Cod,  or  for  trading 
to  Virginia  or  New  York. 

And  so  it  happens  that  he  is  standing  beside 
his  father  on  the  wharf  when  their  old  Boston 
minister,  Mr.  John  Cotton,  lands  from  the 


THE  STORY  OF  EZEKIEL  FULLER.       205 

Griffin,  with  his  wife  and  the  little  baby  born  on 
the  voyage,  and  named  "  Sea-born." 

I  tell  you  this  for  the  sake  of  showing  you 
what  odd  names  children  sometimes  had  in 
those  days. 

But  there  are  other  odd  things  to  be  noticed, 
as  well  as  names.  There  are  stocks  set  up  in 
the  market-place,  where  you  may  often  see 
offenders  sitting  with  both  hands  and  feet  shut 
into  holes  in  the  wooden  framework, — a  curious 
punishment  for  many  small  misdeeds.  Indeed 
it  is  said  that  the  man  who  built  the  stocks  was 
made  to  sit  in  them  himself  for  charging  too 
much  for  his  work. 

Then  there  is  the  windmill  on  a  hill,  where 
the  Boston  people  get  their  corn  ground.  And 
there  are  the  wolves'  heads  brought  in  every 
week  or  two,  for  each  plantation  has  promised 
a  reward  of  one  penny  for  every  cow  or  horse, 
and  one  farthing  for  every  pig  or  goat,  owned  in 
the  settlement,  to  the  man  who  kills  a  wolf. 
No  wonder  that  the  wolves  were  soon  reduced 
in  numbers. 

It  is  not  long  after  this  time,  that  the  court 


206     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

orders  that  musket  bullets  may  be  used  instead 
of  farthings,  so,  if  our  boy  had  any  spending 
money,  or  there  was  anything  to  buy  with  it,  he 
might  have  a  pocketful  of  bullets  for  change. 
But  he  has  very  little  need  of  any  money,  since 
there  is,  as  yet,  not  a  single  shop  in  Boston. 

As  Ezekiel  grows  older  there  is  one  thing 
that  often  puzzles  him.  He  sees  every  month 
some  one  punished,  or  driven  out  of  the  town, 
for  not  agreeing  with  the  Puritan  Church  ;  and, 
remembering  that  it  was  on  account  of  just 
such  persecution  that  his  father  had  fled  from 
England  ;  and  that,  indeed,  almost  all  these 
New  England  settlers  had,  for  that  same  reason, 
left  their  homes  in  Old  England,  he  wonders 
how  they  can  so  understand  the  meaning  of 
that  rule  which  he  has  heard  from  minister, 
parents,  and  teachers  ever  since  he  was  old 
enough  to  remember,  — 

"Do  unto  others  as  you  would  have  others  do 
to  you." 


sr 


Cfl 


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CHAPTER    IX. 

THE    STORY    OF    JONATHAN     DAWSON,    THE 
YANKEE   BOY. 

"  Never  ask  another  to  do  for  you  what  you  can  do  for  yourself ." 

LET  us  take  a  look  at  this  Yankee  boy,  as  he 
sits  on  the  wooden  settle  beside  the  great,  roar- 
ing wood  fire,  and,  by  the  light  of  its  cheerful 
blaze,  reads  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress." 

He  is  a  tall  and  sturdy  lad,  with  face  some- 
what freckled  and  hair  somewhat  bleached  by 
constant  exposure  to  sunshine,  or  whatever  other 
kind  of  weather  the  Lord  chooses  to  send. 

He  wears  a  jacket  anu  trousers  of  coarse, 
207 


208     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

strong  woollen  cloth  of  the  color  known  as 
"  pepper  and  salt,"  and  even  this  simple  suit  of 
clothes  would  be  a  fit  subject  for  a  collector  of 
curiosities  in  our  own  day.  Only  a  week  ago  the 
wool  of  which  it  was  made  was  on  the  sheep's 
backs. 

"Jonathan  must  have  a  new  suit  of  clothes," 
his  mother  had  said,  as  she  carefully  set  a  round 
patch  into  the  middle  of  the  big  square  one  that 
she  had  inserted  into  his  trousers  a  month  or 
two  ago. 

"  Patch  beside  patch  is  good  housewiferie  ; 
But  patch  upon  patch  is  sheer  beggarie." 

"  I  can  make  the  clothes  now,  if  I  have  the 
wool ;  but  next  week  come  the  soap-making 
and  the  quilting,  and  there  will  not  be  much 
time  to  spare." 

"Then  I  will  shear  for  you  to-morrow,"  said 
her  husband,  and,  true  to  his  word,  he  brought 
her  in  a  black  fleece  and  a  white  one,  and  the 
wool  was  soon  carded,  and  the  spinning  wheels 
in  motion. 

Thankful,  the  oldest  daughter,  was  a  good 
spinner,  and  their  neighbor,  Mrs.  Deliverance 


THE  STOR  Y  OF  JONA  J^HAN  DA  WSON.     209 

Putnam,  coming  in  the  next  day,  began  also  to 
spin  with  the  big  wheel,  while  she  told  her  news ; 
so  it  was  not  long  before  the  heavy  skeins  of 
black  and  white  yarn  were  ready  for  the  loom. 

Mother  herself  is  the  best  weaver ;  so  Thank- 
ful and  Betty  did  the  churning  and  cooking  and 
sweeping  and  mending,  while  she  "set  up"  a 
good  piece  of  mixed  black  and  white  cloth 
(pepper  and  salt),  as  I  said  before. 

Then  Miss  Polly  Emerson,  the  tailoress,  came 
to  cut  out  the  clothes,  and  busy  hands  (not  sew- 
ing-machines, for  who  ever  dreamed  of  a  sewing- 
machine  in  those  days  ?)  soon  stitched  them 
together,  and  there  was  Jonathan's  new  suit, 
homespun,  home-woven,  home-made. 

We  may  have  some  idea  of  what  a  suit  of 
clothes  is  worth  when  we  understand  how  all 
this  work  has  been  needed  for  the  making  of  it. 
And  now  we  are  ready  to  charge  Jonathan  not 
to  use  his  new  clothes  carelessly.  He  isn't  to 
wear  them  every  day,  of  course ;  his  old  ones 
will  still  last  some  months  with  careful  patching. 
But  to-day  is  Sunday  and  he  has  been  to  meet- 
ing, and  sat  on  the  pulpit  stairs  through  a 


210      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

sermon  two  hours  long  by  the  hour-glass,  in  the 
forenoon,  and  another  scarcely  shorter  in  the 
afternoon,  relieved  a  little,  however,  by  the  sing- 
ing from  the  old  Bay  Psalm-book  in  which  the 
whole  congregation  joined. 

Now,  since  the  sun  has  set,  and  the  needful 
household  chores  are  done,  he  may  read  Pilgrim's 
Progress  by  the  firelight. 

At  noontime  he  had  eaten  his  dinner  of  bread 
and  cheese  on  Meeting-house  Green,  where  he 
talked  with  Reuben  Thompson  and  Abner 
Dwight,  who  had  come  with  their  parents  to 
meeting,  riding  by  a  bridle-path  through  the 
woods.  Jonathan  stood  on  the  meeting-house 
steps  to  watch  them  ride  away  when  the  after- 
noon services  had  ended.  Farmer  Dwight,  on 
his  brown  horse,  with  his  good  wife  behind  him 
on  a  pillion,  and  Goodman  Thompson,  on  his  old 
gray,  which  also  carried  double,  for  Goodwife 
Thompson  sat  smiling  behind  her  husband,  as 
easy  and  comfortable  as  if  in  her  own  chair  at 
home. 

The  two  boys  rode  together  on  old  Dobbin, 
and  urged  him  along  as  best  they  could,  lest 


THE  STOR  Y  OF  JON  A  THAN  DA  WSON.     211 

they  should  not  get  through  Price's  woods 
before  dark,  for  it  wasn't  unusual  to  meet  a 
prowling  wolf  by  the  way  after  nightfall. 

Then  Jonathan  had  trudged  home,  two  miles 
over  a  rough  road,  and  was  ending  his  day 
beside  the  fire,  with  his  book,  as  I  told  you  in 
the  beginning  of  the  chapter. 

He  had  just  got  as  far  as  Giant  Despair  and 
Doubting  Castle,  when  his  little  sister  Patty, 
sitting  on  a  low  stool  before  the  fire,  with  her 
kitten  in  her  lap,  called  to  him  to  look  quickly, 
and  see  the  wild  geese  go  up  the  chimney,  and 
there,  on  the  sooty  back  of  the  great,  wide  fire- 
place, the  sparks  had  caught  for  a  moment  like 
a  flock  of  birds,  quickly  moving  up  the  chimney, 
as  one  died  out  and  a  fresh  one  caught  fire. 

The  children  always  liked  to  watch  them,  and 
this  time  Stephen  Stackpole,  their  father's  hired 
man,  stopped  for  an  instant  to  watch  them  too, 
while  he  laid  a  fresh  armful  of  wood  beside  the 
fir- 

*'  Them  ain't  wild  geese,  children,"  he  said, 
"Them's  the  folks  goin'  to  meetin'.  Don't  ye 
see,  there's  the  parson  in  front,  and  all  the  folks 


212      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

flockin'-on  behind.  That's  what  we  used  to 
call  'em  when  I  was  a  boy." 

Sunday  evenings  were  short  in  those  days, 
and  Monday  morning  found  our  boy  up  at  day- 
break, and  dressed  in  his  patched  clothes.  He 
is  busy  about  his  morning  work,  for  he  has  to 
help  about  the  milking,  drive  the  cows  and 
sheep  to  pasture,  draw  water  from  the  well  with 
a  bucket  hung  from  a  long  pole  called  the  well- 
sweep,  and  then  carry  the  hams  up  to  the  little 
smoke-room  that  is  built  into  the  chimney,  and 
reached  through  a  door  which  opens  from  the 
attic  ;  for  the  best  of  bacon  was  smoked  in  every 
household  chimney  in  those  days. 

While  he  is  working,  we  will  take  a  look  at 
his  home,  —  a  strange,  one-sided-looking  house, 
with  a  "  lean-to "  at  the  back  or  north  side, 
where  there  is  a  cool  buttery,  or  pantry,  which 
saves  Goodwife  Dawson  many  a  trip  clown 
cellar  or  out  to  the  well.  For  the  well  is  used 
as  a  sort  of  refrigerator,  and  many  a  pail  of  but- 
ter is  kept  cool  and  sweet  in  its  depths. 

The  cellar  has  a  big  trap-door  outside  the 
house,  and  ladder-like  steps  to  go  down,  and 


THE  STOR  Y  OF  JON  A  THAN  DA  WSON.     2 1 3 

when  this  door  is  closed  it  makes  a  comfortable 
seat  where,  on  a  summer  afternoon,  you  might 
see  little  Patty  Dawson  sitting  with  her  knitting- 
work  ;  for,  the  minute  the  child  sat  down,  her 
mother  would  put  her  knitting-work  into  her 
hands,  saying,  ''You  can  rest  just  as  well  knit- 
ting." And  the  consequence  was  that  the  little 
eight-year  old  girl  has  already  become  an  expert 
knitter,  and  has  not  only  knitted  a  pair  of  stock- 
ings for  herself,  but  also  a  big  stout  pair,  of  blue 
yarn,  for  her  brother. 

The  cellar  had  bins  for  potatoes  and  turnips 
and  other  vegetables,  and  many  an  hour  has 
Jonathan  worked  there,  storing  away  the  winter 
stock  of  food. 

"  That  is  just  what  the  farmers  do  every- 
where, now  as  well  as  then,"  you  will  say. 

That  is  true  of  the  farmers,  but  in  Jonathan's 
time  this  storing  of  provisions  for  the  winter 
was  necessary  for  every  man,  for  provision- 
.stores  were  few  and  far  between,  and  almost 
every  man  had  land  enough  to  raise  all  that 
was  needed  for  his  own  family. 

When  the  cellar-door  was  closed,  you  could 


214      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

stand  upon  it  and  look  in  at  the  east  window  of 
the  kitchen.  It  was  a  window  of  twenty-four 
small  panes  of  coarse,  greenish  glass,  set  in 
heavy  sashes,  but  through  it  you  could  look  into 
the  pleasantest  room  in  the  house. 

It  extended  the  whole  way  across  the  back 
part  of  the  house,  and  had  one  east  window  and 
two  west  ones,  and  the  sun  lay  across  the 
floor,  one  way  or  the  other,  all  day  long.  On 
the  north  side  was  the  great  brick  fireplace, 
with  a  stone  hearth  that  measured  ten  feet  by 
seven. 

In  the  afternoon,  when  the  work  was  done, 
the  kitchen  floor  was  sprinkled  with  sand,  which 
was  swept  into  graceful  curves,  like  a  prettily 
marked-out  pattern.  Thankful  always  took  her 
finest  birch  broom  for  this  sweeping,  and  prided 
herself  upon  her  kitchen  floor  as  much  as  Min- 
nie and  Alice  do  now  upon  their  piano-playing 
and  embroidery. 

The  kitchen  fire  was  a  pleasant  sight.  It  not 
only  roasted  the  meat,  and  boiled  the  kettle  and 
the  pots  that  hung  from  the  hooks  of  the  crane, 
but  it  also  filled  the  kitchen  with  a  glow  of 


THE  STORY  OF  JONATHAN  DAWSON.     215 

light  and  heat,  and  shone  upon  the  pewter  plates 
and  dishes  on  the  dresser,  and  the  polished 
brasses  of  the  great  chest  of  drawers  that  stood 
opposite  the  fireplace. 

Under  the  doors  and  around  the  windows 
winter  winds  blew  in,  and  snow  drifted  into  little 
piles  on  the  sills,  and  grandfather  had  to  sit  in 
the  warmest  corner,  where  the  high  back  of 
the  settle  protected  him  from  drafts. 

Over  the  fireplace  were  curious  little  cup- 
boards in  the  wall,  so  high  up  that  the  children 
could  not  reach  them  ;  but  perhaps  the  treas- 
ures they  contained  were  all  the  safer  for  that. 

Sometimes,  after  supper,  sitting  there  by  the 
firelight,  the  children  ask  their  grandfather  for 
a  story,  and  he  answers,  "  Well,  hand  me  down 
the  old  cup,  and  I  will  tell." 

And  Jonathan  climbs  on  one  of  the  rush-bot- 
tomed chairs,  opens  the  little  cupboard  door, 
that  is  fastened  by  a  wooden  button,  and  from  a 
shelf  inside  takes  out  a  curiously-shaped  little 
wooden  cup.  It  is  made  of  oak  wood,  and  is 
already  turning  dark  with  age. 

Putting  it  into  the  old  man's  hand,  he  stands 


216     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

beside  him  to  listen  to  the  strange  and  terri- 
ble story  he  has  already  heard  many  a  time 
before,  of  the  sudden  night  attack  upon  the 
settlement  by  French  and  Indians,  when  his 
grandfather  was  a  young  man  ;  how  he  waked 
only  to  find  the  house  in  flames  and  surrounded 
by  whooping  savages,  tomahawk  in  hand  :  and 
how  he  was  marched  away  captive  through  the 
forest,  with  many  other  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, who,  as  it  happened  to  please  their  cap- 
tors, were  held  for  ransom  instead  of  being  tor- 
tured and  killed. 

It  was  during  this  strange  captivity  that  he 
had  made  this  little  wooden  cup  to  drink  from, 
and  brought  it  away  with  him  when  at  last  the 
end  of  the  war  brought  an  exchange  of  pris- 
oners. "  You  mind  neighbor  Churchill's  wife, 
my  boy,"  the  old  man  would  say.  "Well,  she 
was  one  of  the  babies  that  was  taken  through 
the  woods  with  us,  —  a  baby  in  her  mother's 
arms.  The  hope  of  saving  her  baby  was  all 
that  kept  that  poor  mother  alive  through 
that  terrible  march.  Not  until  we  reached  the 
Indian  village,  near  the  Canada  line,  did  she 


THE  S  TOR  Y  OF  JON  A  THA  N  DA  WSON.      2 1 7 

give  up,  and  then  she  just  dropped  down  and 
died. 

"The  Indians  would  have  made  short  work 
with  the  baby  if  the  mother  had  dropped  on  the 
road,  but  in  the  village  a  childless  squaw  claimed 
it  for  her  own,  and  a  good  foster-mother  she 
made,  too.  It  was  pitiful  to  hear  her  plead  to 
keep  it  when  the  news  came  that  the  chief  had 
given  his  word  that  all  prisoners  should  be  sent 
down  to  the  nearest  fort  for  exchange. 

"'The  little  one  has  no  other  mother  but  me,' 
she  said. 

"  It  was  true,  and  the  child  was  loth  to  leave 
her;  but  its  own  father  was  at  the  fort  to  claim 
his  wife  and  baby,  and  he  went  home  with  the 
poor  little  thing  sobbing  in  his  arms,  as  sorry 
to  leave  her  Indian  mammy  as  if  she  had  never 
known  any  other. 

"You'll  keep  this  cup,  boy,"  he  said,  as  he 
handed  it  back  to  be  returned  to  its  place  in 
the  little  chimney  cupboard. 

"That  I  will,  grandfather;  it  is  as  good  as  a 
story  itself,"  answered  Jonathan. 

"We  are  safe  enough  here,  now,  from  the  red- 


21 8      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

skins,"  continued  the  old  man,  "but  there  are 
plenty  of  them  still  in  the  wilderness  of  the 
Ohio  and  in  Kentuck,  and  you  may  have  to 
meet  them  in  battle  yet,  Jonathan." 

You  will  see  that  the  old  grandfather  was  not 
tne  only  one  who  thought  it  likely  that  the  boys 
would  need  to  fight  some  day.  Master  Wads- 
worth,  the  schoolmaster,  had  also  the  same  idea  ; 
perhaps  not  with  regard  to  fighting  Indians  only, 
but  possibly  British  troops,  for,  if  you  will  go 
to  school  with  Jonathan,  you  will  see  that  there 
was  something  besides  reading,  writing,  and 
ciphering  taught  in  that  school.  On  the  school- 
room walls  hung  a  row  of  wooden  muskets  with 
tin  bayonets,  and,  as  the  clock  struck  twelve, 
Master  Wadsworth  took  up  his  cocked  hat,  and, 
shouting  "To  arms  !  "  led  his  little  regiment  of 
boys  out  to  drill.  He  taught  them  the  proper 
handling  of  their  arms,  marched  them,  and 
wheeled  and  counter-marched,  through  sunshine 
and  through  rain,  over  hills  and  through  woods. 
"  For  the  need  will  surely  come,"  said  the  mas- 
ter, "and  you  must  be  ready." 

And  the  need  did  come.     In  less   than    ten 


THE  STOR  Y  OF  JON  A  THAN  DA  WSON.     2 1 Q 

years  Master  Wadsworth  was  General  Wads- 
worth,  and  some  of  his  old  schoolboys  were 
serving  under  him  in  the  Revolutionary  war. 

On  Friday  afternoon  there  was  catechising  in 
school.  On  Monday  morning  the  texts  of 
yesterday's  sermons  must  be  repeated. 

The  most  common  reading-book  was  the 
Bible  ;  and  many  a  worn-out  copy  that  had  been 
used  in  school  showed  how  the  children  had 
toiled  over  the  hard  words  and  unpronounceable 
names.  So  poor  was  the  print  of  some  of  these 
old  Bibles  that  there  were  often  blotted  words 
which  could  not  be  deciphered,  and  the  reader 
would  supply  their  places  by  saying,  "  scratched 
out." 

"The  city  that  the  Lord  hath  scratched  out" 
read  Jonathan  in  a  loud,  sing-song  voice,  one 
morning. 

"Stop,  stop,"  cried  Master  Wadsworth,  "let 
me  see,  you  young  rascal,  what  city  that  is." 

Saturday  was  a  holiday,  and  of  course  you 
want  to  know  what  Jonathan  did  then. 

It  wasn't  all  play,  for  Yankee  boys,  in  what- 
ever station  in  life,  used  to  work  in  those  days. 


220     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

So  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  was  to  bring 
in  the  oven-wood.  If  you  don't  know  what  that 
means,  I  must  tell  you  that  beside  the  fire-place 
was  a  great  brick  oven,  like  a  baker's  oven.  It 
was  heated  by  building  a  fire  in  it,  which,  when 
it  had  burned  down,  left  the  bricks  so  hot  that 
the  heat  would  serve  for  hours  to  bake  bread 
and  cake  and  pies,  and  finish  by  cooking  a  great 
pot  of  beans  and  a  loaf  of  brown  bread,  which 
were  left  in  all  night,  and  taken  out  still  warm 
for  breakfast  on  Sunday  morning.  The  oven- 
wood  was  always  to  be  brought  in  early  on 
Saturday  morning. 

Then  there  was  the  jack  to  be  wound  up; 
that  was  another  thing  for  Jonathan  to  do.  I 
don't  believe  any  of  you  know  what  the  jack  was, 
and,  to  explain  it,  I  must  tell  you  that,  when 
meat  was  to  be  roasted,  it  had  a  long  iron  spit 
run  through  it,  and  was  placed  before  the  fire, 
where  the  ends  of  the  spit  rested  in  a  frame. 
Now,  of  course,  the  spit  must  be  turned  round 
and  round,  or  the  meat  would  roast  only  on  one 
side. 

I  have  heard  of  dogs  being  employed  to  turn 


THE  S  TOR  Y  OF  JON  A  THAN  DA  WSON.     2  2 1 

a  spit,  by  means  of  a  little  treadmill,  but  1 
think  the  jack  which  used  to  be  in  my  grand- 
father's old  kitchen  was  a  better  turnspit.  It 
had  weights  like  a  tall  clock,  and  was  wound  up 
and  attached  to  the  spit,  which  it  would  turn 
steadily  round  and  round,  until  it  ran  down; 
when,  of  course,  it  could  easily  be  wound  up 
again. 

After  the  jack  was  wound  up,  Goodwife 
Dawson  would  perhaps  say  that  she  needed  new 
brooms ;  and  Jonathan  would  go  to  the  edge  of 
the  woods  for  suitable  birch  sticks,  and  then, 
sitting  on  the  kitchen  doorstep,  he  stripped 
them  down  nearly  to  the  end,  turned  the  strips 
over,  and  tied  them  firmly  round,  thus  making 
a  very  useful  broom.  Could  you  do  that,  do 
you  think  ? 

Or,  if  she  did  not  need  brooms,  she  might 
want  ribwort,  or  sage,  or  raspberry  leaves  gath- 
ered to  dry  for  tea,  for  already  the  odious  tea- 
tax  had  roused  the  Yankees  to  resistance,  and 
only  "liberty  tea"  was  used  in  this  patriotic 
family.  Sometimes  Jonathan  brought  home 
from  the  fields  or  pastures  the  sweet-smelling 


222      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

bayberries,  that  his  mother  might  have  bay- 
berry  tallow  for  her  candle-making. 

The  firelight,  as  we  have  already  seen,  was 
often  bright  enough  to  read  by  at  night,  but 
there  was  always  also  a  good  supply  of  home- 
made candles,  both  dip  and  mould :  the  former 
made  by  dipping  a  wick  into  melted  tallow, 
cooling  and  dipping  again  and  again  until  it 
was  large  enough ;  the  latter,  by  pouring  the 
melted  tallow  into  a  mould.  The  bayberry 
tallow  gave  out  a  pleasant  fragrance  as  it  burned, 
and  was  also  of  a  pretty  green  color,  and  the 
bayberry  candles  were  often  run  in  a  pretty 
fluted  mould. 

The  work  being  finished,  the  boy  would  be  off 
to  the  woods  to  set  snares  for  rabbits,  or  traps 
for  foxes ;  perhaps  even  to  help  the  young  men 
of  the  neighborhood  set  a  bear-trap  for  the 
brown  bear  that  had  killed  a  calf  last  week. 

Sometimes  a  flock  of  wild  pigeons  would  al- 
most darken  the  sky,  and  would  fall  by  dozens  at 
the  fire  of  the  old  guns  which  were  to  be  found 
in  every  house,  hanging  on  the  hooks  over  the 
door  or  the  fireplace. 


THE  S  TOR  Y  OF  JON  A  THA  N  DA  WSON.      22$ 

The  best  Saturday  play  was  "  training,"  as  the 
boys  called  playing  soldiers. 

"  Training-day  "  was  the  day  when  the  militia 
marched  out  to  the  meeting-house  green  and 
were  reviewed  by  their  officers.  And  the  boys, 
who  looked  on  with  delight,  celebrated  their 
training-day  as  often  as  a  leisuj-e  Saturday 
would  permit. 

They  hadn't  many  holidays.  Christmas  was 
frowned  upon,  as  a  festival  of  the  English  church 
upon  which  their  ancestors  had  turned  their 
backs  when  they  came  to  this  country.  But 
Thanksgiving  was  the  chief  feast-day  of  the 
year.  To  meeting  in  the  forenoon,  to  hear  a 
good  strong  sermon  on  the  state  of  the  country; 
and  then  home  to  a  grand  dinner  of  turkey 
and  chicken  pie,  plum-pudding  and  pies  of  pump- 
kin, apples,  and  mince,  with  a  dessert  of  apples 
and  cider,  and  a  grand  game  of  blind-man's- 
buff  in  the  evening,  —  that  was  Thanksgiving 
Day;  and  while  they  were  in  the  midst  of  its 
festivities,  perhaps  a  great  snow-storm  would 
come,  and  block  up  the  windows  and  doors,  so 
that  their  only  way  out  the  next  day  would  be 
through  a  tunnelled  drift. 


224      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

Sometimes,  on  a  market-day,  the  boy  goes  into 
Boston  with  his  father,  who  with  well-filled 
saddle-bags  rides  his  big  bay  horse,  while  his 
son  jogs  slowly  beside  him  on  old  Dobbin.  They 
cross  the  river  on  a  flat  ferry-boat  worked  by  a 
chain  which  stretches  across  the  stream,  and 
they  enter  town  by  the  road  leading  in  over  "  the 
Neck,"'  where  they  meet  the  New  York  stage 
which  has  been  for  two  weeks  on  its  way  from 
that  'city,  bringing  mails  and  passengers. 

In  Boston  he  sees  gentlemen  in  their  pow- 
dered wigs,  braided  queues,  cocked  hats,  lace 
ruffles,  small-clothes  with  knee-buckles,  and  gilt 
buttons  on  their  coats.  Occasionally,  too,  a 
carriage  with  a  black  footman  or  a  coachman,  — 
slaves  they  were,  Caesar  or  Cato  by  name,  for 
Massachusetts  had  not  yet  set  all  her  slaves  free  ; 
though  men  were  beginning  to  think  that  they 
couldn't  conscientiously  say,  "  All  men  are  born 
free  and  equal,"  while  they  held  any  in  bondage. 

He  is  always  glad  when  business  takes  his 
father  down  to  the  wharves,  so  that  he  may  see 
what  is  coming  from  or  going  to  other  parts  of 
the  world.  Perhaps  a  schooner  is  in  from  Bar- 


THE  S  TOR  Y  OF  JON  A  THAN  DA  WSON.      22$ 

badoes,  loaded  with  molasses,  and  another  is 
loading  for  the  same  port  with  salt  fish.  A  ship 
from  England,  which  has  been  five  or  six  weeks 
on  the  way,  is  unloading  window-glass,  salt, 
calico,  broadcloth,  hardware,  and  many  a  simple 
thing  that  the  skilful  New  Englanders  could 
make  for  themselves  if  their  mother  country 
would  allow  them  to  do  so. 

Jonathan  stands  under  the  great  elm,  that  has 
already  received  the  name  of  "  Liberty  Tree," 
and  he  sees  red-coated  soldiers  in  the  streets,  and 
hears  on  all  sides  talk  of  the  British  war-ships 
in  the  harbor. 

His  father  buys  a  copy  of  "  Poor  Richard's 
Almanac,"  published  by  Benjamin  Franklin 
in  Philadelphia;  and  also  a  newspaper,  "The 
Massachusetts  Spy,"  and  carries  them  safely 
home  to  read  at  his  leisure  ;  for  a  newspaper 
was  a  rare  treasure  in  those  days.  And  the 
buying  of  the  newspaper  reminds  me  to  tell  you 
what  sort  of  money  Jonathan  uses,  when  he 
has  any  to  use,  —  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  is  not 
often. 

He  has  coppers  or  pennies   three   times  as 


226      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

large  as  our  present  cents.  Then  he  has  some- 
times a  silver  sixpence,  or  ninepence,  or  a  little 
piece  called  fourpence-ha'penny,  and  occasion- 
ally a  Spanish  pistareen,  which  is  worth  about 
twenty  cents.  He  has  seen  pine-tree  shillings, 
which  were  used  in  his  grandfather's  day,  but 
there  are  no  five  or  ten  cent  pieces,  no  quarter 
or  half  dollars,  though  there  are  big  Spanish  sil- 
ver dollars,  much  used  by  the  merchants. 

If  he  is  sent  to  buy  sugar  or  molasses  for  his 
mother,  he  is  perhaps  told  that  the  price  is 
"one  and  sixpence,"  or  "two  and  six,"  or 
"three  and  nine."  What  a  mystery  such  prices 
must  be  to  you  to-day ! 

His  father,  last  year,  bought  his  wife  a  calico 
gown  at  four  and  sixpence  a  yard,  made,  very 
likely,  of  American  cotton,  —  for  cotton  had 
been  growing  in  South  Carolina  for  the  last 
twenty  years,  and  was  already  exported  to  Eng- 
land and  manufactured.  But  Goodwife  Dawson 
will  not  wear  any  more  British  calico.  She  will 
prefer  her  own  homespun  dresses,  and  the  inde- 
pendence that  comes  with  them. 

One  singular  event  of  Jonathan's  boyhood  I 


THE  STOR  Y  OF  JON  A  THAN  DA  WSON.      22? 

must  not  omit  to  mention.  He  had  the  small- 
pox ;  that  is,  he  had  it  given  to  him  on  purpose. 
He  went,  with  his  mother  and  two  sisters  and  a 
half  dozen  of  their  neighbors,  to  a  lonely  house 
on  an  island,  and  there  the  whole  party  had 
the  small-pox  together.  After  they  were  well, 
others  took  their  places  for  the  same  purpose. 
Vaccination  had  not  been  discovered,  and  it  was 
found  that  taking  the  small-pox  by  inoculation, 
as  it  was  called,  made  the  disease  less  danger- 
ous, so  it  was  the  custom  for  people  to  save 
themselves  from  the  worst  form  of  it  by  taking 
the  lightest. 

Athough  Jonathan  is  a  New  England  boy,  he 
has  never  seen  the  American  flag,  for  there  was 
no  American  flag  in  his  time ;  even  the  pine- 
tree  flag  had  not  yet  been  made. 

He  has  never  celebrated  the  Fourth  of  July ; 
for  as  yet  there  has  been  nothing  to  distinguish 
that  day  from  others.  But  he  will  live  to  call  it 
" Independence  Day"  and  to  think  of  it  as  the 
birthday  of  a  great  nation. 

He  is  a  British  subject  while  a  boy.  When 
he  is  a  young  man  he  will  be  a  soldier  in  the 


228      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

Revolutionary  army,  and  fight  under  the  stars 
and  stripes.  And  long  before  he  is  an  old  man, 
he  will  be  a  good  citizen  of  the  free  and  inde- 
pendent republic  of  the  United  States. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE   STORY   OF  A   FEW   DAYS   IN  THE    LIFE   OF 
FRANK   WILSON,  THE  BOY   OF  1885. 

"  More  servants  wait  on  man  than  he^ll  take  notice  of" 

FRANK  wakes  on  Monday  morning  and  be- 
gins the  simple  process  of  dressing.  Let  us 
stop  a  minute  to  ask  where  his  clothes  came 
from. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  They  were  bought  at 
some  store,"  he  answers  carelessly. 

He  hasn't  stopped  to  think  of  anything  be- 
yond the  store, — of  the  great  factories  where 
cotton  and  woollen  cloths  are  made  daily  by  the 
229 


230      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

mile ;  for  the  steam-engine  that  turns  the  spin 
dies  and  works  the  looms  never  tires. 

Even  the  buttons  on  his  jacket  could  tell  him 
a  story,  for  they  are  made  of  rubber  ;  and  first, 
there  was  the  gathering  of  the  gum  from  the 
trees  in  South  America,  and  the  shipping  it 
from  Rio  Janeiro  to  New  York ;  then  another 
steam-engine  to  work  the  machinery  of  the  but- 
ton factory.  This  giant  servant  begins  to  wait 
on  him  as  soon  as  he  is  up  in  the  morning. 

Jonathan  went  to  the  well  for  water,  washed 
his  face  in  a  tin  basin,  and  wiped  it  on  a 
coarse,  homespun  roller-towel.  Frank  has  but 
to  turn  a  faucet,  and  hot  or  cold  water  is  at  his 
service,  brought  from  springs  ten  miles  away, 
without  thought  or  care  of  his. 

Little,  too,  does  he  think  how  the  food  comes 
upon  his  breakfast-table.  China  has  sent  the 
tea,  Arabia  or  Java  the  coffee,  and  Caraccas  the 
chocolate.  And  there  are  oranges  on  the  table, 
—  oranges  that  can  only  grow  in  a  warm  cli- 
mate. Two  hundred  years  ago  such  a  plate  of 
oranges  in  the  winter  would  have  been  impos- 
sible. 


THE  STORY  OF  FRANK    WILSON.        231 

His  school  is  twenty  miles  away,  in  Boston. 
But  what  of  that.  There  is  a  wonderful  horse 
of  iron  and  steel  that  will  carry  him  there  in 
less  time  than  it  would  take  him  to  walk  two 
miles. 

In  school  he  finds  awaiting  him  the  latest  news 
from  all  parts  of  the  world.  All  that  the  wisest 
men  have  thought  out  or  discovered  is  at  his 
service.  Even  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans 
have  handed  down  to  him  all  the  best  of  their 
store  of  learning,  and  printing-presses  are  at 
work  day  and  night,  al]  over  the  land,  to  record 
whatever  is  new.  He  may  take  it  all  if  his  mind 
is  able  to  grasp  it. 

Before  school  is  over,  his  mother  has  thought 
of  an  errand  she  wishes  him  to  do  for  her  in 
Boston  ;  so  she  speaks  to  him  through  the  tele- 
phone, and  the  simple,  vibrating  wires  tell  him 
the  message  as  plainly  as  if  he  were  speaking 
with  his  mother  face  to  face  at  home. 

As  he  goes  home  with  his  father  on  the  train 
in  the  afternoon,  they  buy  for  two  cents  a  news- 
paper that  tells  them  what  happened  in  Europe 
to-day,  or  in  Asia  yesterday,  and  what  the 
weather  will  be  to-morrow. 


232      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

It  seems  impossible  to  surprise  this  boy,  for 
everything  is  told  him  before  he  has  a  chance 
to  be  surprised. 

Tuesday  morning  finds  him  starting  for  school 
in  a  violent  snow-storm.  Any  other  boy  of  whom 
you  have  read  in  this  book  would  have  been 
wet  to  the  skin  before  reaching  Boston  in  such 
a  storm  ;  but  here  are  rubber  overcoat,  boots, 
and  cap,  and,  inside  of  this  suit,  a  boy  as  warm 
and  dry  as  if  sheltered  by  his  own  fireside. 

Then  the  train  by  which  he  goes  to  school 
starts  out  to  battle  with  the  drifts. 

Many  a  snow-drift  has  been  shovelled  away  by 
the  sturdy  arms  of  Ezekiel,  or  Jonathan,  but 
Frank  sits  quietly  studying  his  Latin  lesson, 
while  "  the  sunshine  bottled  up  in  the  coal  "  (as 
a  wise  man  has  said)  works  for  him,  making 
steam,  by  which  the  greet  snow-plough  shovels 
away  the  drifts,' right  and  left,  and  scorning  all 
obstacles,  drives  on  its  straight  path  into  Bos- 
ton. 

If  we  go  with  him  to  school  to-day  we  shall 
hear  the  recitation  of  the  astronomy  class. 
When  Frank  was  hardly  more  than  a  baby,  he 
used  to  repeat,  — 


THE  STORY  OF  FRANK   WILSON. 

"  Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star, 
How  I  wonder  what  you  are." 

But  now  it  seems  as  if  no  child  need  wonder 
any  more,  for  here  is  the  telescope  to  show  him 
a  rounded  globe  in  place  of  a  twinkling  star; 
and  the  spectroscope  to  show  him  that  his 
wonderful  star  is  made  of  the  same  materials  as 
the  familiar  earth  on  which  he  lives. 

After  school  Frank's  father  asks  him  to  go  to 
a  book-store  and  buy  for  him  a  certain  book 
which  he  needs. 

"  We  haven't  the  book  in  the  store  to-day," 
says  the  salesman,  "but  we  will  order  it  from 
London  and  have  it  for  you  in  a  Areek  or 
two." 

Think  of  that,  and  remember  how  Ezekiel 
Fuller  sailed  from  London  to  Boston  in  ten  long 
weeks. 

It  is  a  dark  and  stormy  day,  and  the  book- 
store is  lighted  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
with  electric  light,  by  which  one  can  read  as 
well  as  by  daylight ;  the  gas,  too,  is  lighted  in 
the  streets  as  Frank  goes  down  to  the  train, 
and  in  the  cars  he  has  some  more  of  the  sun- 


234      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

shine  of  former  ages  "bottled  up"  in  the 
kerosene. 

Wednesday  is  an  eventful  day.  His  father 
receives  by  cable  a  message  saying  that  he  is 
needed  in  Calcutta  to  attend  to  some  business. 

The  message  is  dated  February  2,  but  he  re- 
ceives it  on  the  afternoon  of  February  i,  and 
this  fact,  which  seems  like  an  impossibility, 
makes  very  clear  to  Frank  the  meaning  of 
yesterday's  geography  lesson  about  longitude 
and  time. 

"  I  shall  always  remember  now  that  west  is 
earlier,  father,  because  this  message  came  west 
and  reached  us  earlier  than  it  was  sent." 

On  Wednesday  evening  the  family  gathered 
round  the  table  to  trace  upon  the  map,  with  the 
father,  the  course  of  his  proposed  journey. 

He  will  sail  to-morrow,  and  this  is  their  last 
evening  together  for  many  months. 

See  how  the  great  servant,  steam,  is  going  to 
attend  him  upon  his  way.  It  will  take  him  in  a 
steamship  across  the  ocean,  in  cars  across 
France,  again  over  the  Mediterranean  by 
steamer,  and  through  the  Suez  Canal,  Red  Sea, 


THE  STOKY  OF  FRANK  WILSON.         235 

and  Indian  Ocean, — every  step  of  the  way  it 
will  conduct  him,  and  land  him  in  Calcutta  in  a 
little  more  than  a  month. 

While  he  is  away,  it  will  carry  letters  for  him 
to  his  wife  and  children,  and  bring  back  theirs 
to  him. 

Who  else  could  you  ask  to  run  on  such  an 
errand  for  you,  half  round  the  world,  for  only 
five  cents  ? 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  new  picture  of  the  boys  to  take 
with  me,"  he  said  next  morning,  as  he  looked  at 
Frank  and  his  little  brother,  standing  ready  to 
go  down  to  the  steamer  and  see  him  off.  "  We 
will  have  one  taken  to-day,"  said  their  mother, 
"  and  send  it  to  you  by  the  next  mail." 

Did  I  tell  you  of  the  curious  little  black  pro- 
files in  round  wooden  frames,  that  hung  on  the 
walls  of  the  sitting-room  in  Jonathan's  home,  — 
the  only  portraits  that  were  to  be  had  in  those 
days,  unless  one  was  rich  enough  to  pay  some 
portrait-painter  for  an  elaborate  oil  painting? 

Frank  will  have  the  greatest  of  portrait-paint- 
ers to  paint  his  picture,  and  yet  he  will  pay  but 
a  few  dollars  for  the  work ;  for  it  is  the  sunlight 


236     THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

itself  that  will  take  his  photograph.  True,  there 
must  be  a  photographer  who  knows  how  to 
catch  and  to  keep  the  picture  when  the  great 
artist  has  painted  it ;  and  Frank  pays  this  pho- 
tographer for  his  work,  since  he  cannot  pay  the 
artist  himself. 

As  they  came  away  from  the  photographer's, 
his  mother  stopped  at  the  shirt-factory  to  order 
some  shirts  for  the  two  boys. 

"  I  wish  we  could  see  how  they  make  *em," 
said  Frank  ;  and  the  superintendent,  overhearing 
the  words,  said,  "  I  will  send  some  one  through 
the  factory  with  the  young  gentlemen,  if  you 
will  allow  me,  madam." 

So  they  went  into  the  great  room  where  the 
cutting  was  done,  then  up  to  the  sewing-ma- 
chine room,  where,  instead  of  the  busy  fingers 
that  used  to  sew  for  Roger  or  Ezekiel  or  Jona- 
than, a  thousand  fine  fingers  of  steel,  moved  by  a 
steam-engine,  stitched  away  with  a  merry  hum  of 
industry,  and  only  asked  that  some  one  should 
keep  supplying  them  with  more  work  and  more. 
And  there  were  the  button-hole  machines,  turn- 
ing off  button-holes  as  fast  as  the  work  could  be 


THE   STORY  OF  FRANK   WILSON.         2 37 

put  into  place,  and  nothing  seemed  to  be  left 
for  common  needles  and  fingers  to  do,  but  the 
sewing-on  of  buttons. 

All  this  work  seems  so  common  to  you,  that 
you  perhaps  wonder  I  should  tell  you  about  it  ; 
but  think  for  a  moment  of  the  other  nine  boys 
who  had  to  live  without  sewing-machines. 

On  Friday  Frank's  cousin  arrives  from  Cali- 
fornia. A  week  ago  he  had  stood  on  the  Pacific 
shore,  and  now  he  stands  on  the  Atlantic.  He 
has  slept  every  night  in  a  comfortable  bed  in  a 
sleeping-car;  he  has  telegraphed  an  order  for 
his  dinner  each  day  to  some  station  which  he 
would  reach  at  a  suitable  hour  for  dining,  and 
he  has  had  all  the  convenience  and  none  of 
the  hardship  of  a  four-thousand-mile  journey. 
Mountains  have  been  tunnelled  or  cut  away, 
wonderful  trestle-work  has  filled  up  deep  valleys, 
that  his  road  might  be  straight  and  secure,  no  ob- 
stacle has  been  able  to  stand  in  his  way,  and  he 
arrives  fresh  and  strong,  and  full  of  interesting 
stories  of  the  mining  regions  and  the  great 
ranches. 

He  goes  next  day  with    Frank  to  Barnum's 


238      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO   TO  NOW. 

menagerie.  No  doubt  you  have  all  been  there 
too,  and  I  don't  propose  to  describe  the  animals 
for  you ;  but  I  want  you  to  think  for  a  moment 
how  wonderful  it  is  that  elephants  and  tigers 
and  lions  from  Asia  and  Africa,  seals  and  white 
bears  from  the  Arctic  regions,  antelopes  from 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  monkeys  and 
parrots  from  South  America  should  meet  to- 
gether in  Boston  and  let  a  Boston  boy  make 
their  acquaintance. 

If  Roger  had  wanted  to  see  an  elephant  he 
would  have  had  to  go  to  Africa  or  Asia  for  the 
purpose. 

Ezekiel  had  seen  bears  and  wolves  and  foxes 
caught  or  killed  in  the  woods,  but  to  him  a  HOP 
was  as  strange  and  fabulous  a  thing  as  a  dragon. 

It  seemed  as  if  Frank  had  but  to  sit  still  and 
wait,  and  all  the  world's  wonders  would  be 
brought  for  him  to  see. 

He  has  more  books  than  he  can  read  ;  more 
pleasures  than  he  can  enjoy.  I  don't  believe  a 
twenty-mile  ride  on  his  bicycle,  or  a  trip  on  his 
ice-boat  at  the  rate  of  thirty  miles  an  hour,  gives 
him  any  greater  delight  than  Gilbert  felt  when 


THE  STORY  OF  FRANK  WILSON.         239 

he  went  hawking  by  the  river,  or  Wulf  and  Ella 
when  they  ran  races  in  the  woods. 

I  will  end  my  book  with  a  fable,  and  you  may 
apply  its  meaning  as  you  please. 

Once  there  was  a  wise  king  who  ruled  over  a 
great  country.  He  had  a  son  whom  he  loved 
very  much,  and  wished  to  help  in  every  way, 
but  he  said,  "  If  I  help  him  too  much,  he  will 
never  learn  to  help  himself.  I  have  treasures 
enough  to  make  him  rich,  and  pleasures  enough 
to  make  him  happy,  but  he  will  have  to  learn 
that,  in  order  to  enjoy  riches  and  pleasures, 
he  must  first  earn  them." 

So  he  hid  the  treasures  in  places  difficult  to 
be  reached,  and  put  all  sorts  of  obstacles  in  the 
roads,  and  then  he  sent  the  young  prince  out 
into  the  world  to  seek  his  fortune. 

Whenever  he  came  to  a  great  stone  in  the 
road,  and  lifted  it  out  of  the  way,  making  the 
road  not  only  easier  for  himself,  but  also  better 
for  all  those  that  came  after  him,  the  strength 
by  which  that  stone  had  resisted  passed  into 
the  arms  that  had  moved  it ;  so  he  went  on  his 


240      THE  ROAD  FROM  LONG  AGO  TO  NOW. 

way  just  so  much  stronger  for  every  obstacle  he 
had  overcome.  And  for  a  long  time  this  rough 
work  with  the  hands  was  all  he  could  do.  But 
when  at  last  the  roads  were  so  cleared  that  all 
men  might  easily  journey  over  them,  then  other 
troubles  appeared,  obstacles  that  could  not  be 
lifted  out  of  the  way  with  strong  arms,  but 
must  be  thought  out  of  the  way  by  long  and 
patient  study,  and  when,  at  last,  they  were  over- 
come, their  strength  also  passed  into  the  mind 
of  him  who  had  conquered  them. 

And  as  the  young  prince  went  on,  working 
his  way  with  hands  and  with  mind,  he  grew 
stronger  and  stronger,  and  happier  and  happier ; 
and  when  he  had  reached  all  the  riches  and  the 
pleasures,  he  said  joyously,  "  I  do  not  need  any 
of  them  ;  in  going  to  seek  them,  I  have  gained 
something  better  than  them  all." 

It  is  not  what  a  boy  has,  but  what  he  is,  that 
makes  him  valuable  to  the  world,  and  the  world 
valuable  to  him. 


VOCABULARY 


TEN    BOYS 

PRONUNCIATION,  —a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  as  in/ate,  mete,  site,  rope,  tube;  5, 
e,  I,  6,  u,  as  in  hat,  met,  bit,  not,  cut ;  a,  e,  i',  o,  ii,  as  mfar,  her,  fir,  nor, 
cur  /  a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  as  in  mental,  travel,  peril,  idol,  forum  ;  ee,  as  va.  feet  ;  oa 
as  in  hoot ;  ou,  as  in  bough  ;  6u,  as  in  croup. 


Acropolis,  A-crop'-o-lis. 

Afghanistan,  Af-ghan-is-tan'. 

Agni,  Ag'-nl. 

Ajax,  A'-jax. 

Alpha,  Al'-pha. 

Alpheus,  Al-fe'-us. 

Amyas,  Am-yas. 

\pollo,  A-polMo. 

Aristodemus,  Ar-is-to-de'-mus. 

Aryan,  Ar'-yan. 

Aryas,  Ar'-yas. 

j  thene,  A-tha'-na,  Athe'-ne. 

Athenian,  A-the'-ne-an. 

Atrium,  A'-tre-oom. 

Atticus,  At'-ti-cus. 

Augurs,  Au'-gurs. 

Ave    Maria,     A-ve    Ma-rea, 

prayer. 

Aventine,  A'-ven-tme. 
Babylon,  Bab'-y-lon. 


Bacinet,  Bak'-e-net. 
Barbadoes,  Bar-ba'-dos. 
Baryta,  Bar'-e-ta. 
Bellamie,  Ber-la-my. 
Beta,  Ba'-ta. 
Beorn,  Ba'-orn. 
Bevis,  Be'-vis. 
Blouses,  Blouz'-es. 
Boulogne,  B66-16n'. 
Bulla,  BoolMa. 
Cadiz,  Ca'-diz. 
Cadmea,  Cad-me'-a. 
Caius,  Ca'-yus. 
Calpurnius,  Cal-piir'-ne-us. 
Capitoline,  Cap-i-to-lm'. 
Caraccas,  Car'-a-cas. 
Cathay,  Cath-ax. 
Chalons,  Sha-long'. 
Charicles,  Kar'-i-cles. 
Chiton,  Ke'-ton. 

241 


242 


VOCABULARY 


Chivalry,  Shlv'-al-ry. 
Cleon,  Cla'-on. 
Clermont,  Clar'-mont. 
Clouds-ley,  CloudsMy. 
C lough,  Cluf. 
Cossus,  Cos'-soos. 
Cyrus,  Si'-rus. 
Daldion,  Dal'-di-on. 
Darius,  Da-rl'-us. 
Dasyus,  Das-yus. 
Delphi,  Del'-fl. 
Deradetta,  Der'-a-det-ta. 
Devonshire,  Dev'-on-shir. 
Diana,  Di-a'-na. 
Diogenes,  Di-og'-e-nes. 
Doxio^o,  Dox'-j-ns. 
Drachma,  Drak'-ma. 
Elis,  E'-lis. 
Elric,  El'-ric. 
Erkinnon,  Er-kin'-non. 
Eudexion,  U-dex'-i-on. 
Euphrates,  U-fra'-tez. 
Everhard,  Ev'-er-ard. 
Ezekiel,  E-ze'-ke-el. 
Falcon,  Faw'-kn. 
Fenrir,  Fen'-rir. 
Fitz-Hamo,  Fitz-Ha'-rao. 
Flushinger,  Flush'-ing-ger. 
Friga,  Fri'-ga. 
Galleon,  Gal'-le-on. 
Gamma,  Gam'-ma. 
Geoffrey,  Jef'-fry. 
Glaucon,  Glau'-cpn. 
Golan,  GoMan. 
Grendel,   GreV-del. 
Hengist,  Heng'-gist. 


Heron,  Her'-onr 

Hersa,  Her-sa. 

Hertha,  Her-tha. 

Hestia,  Hes'-te-a. 

Horatia,  Ho-ra'-she-a. 

Horatius,  Ho-ra'-she-us. 

Horsa,  Hor'-sa. 

Hymettus,  Hi-met'-tus. 

Iran,  E-ran. 

Ides,  Ides. 

Janus,  Ja'-nus. 

Janiculum,  Ja-nic'-u-lum. 

Jennet,  Jen'-net. 

Kablu,  Kab'-lu. 

Kalanta,  Ka-lan'-ta. 

Kalends,  KaMends. 

Lares,  La'-rez. 

Levant,  Le-vant'. 

Lima  Le'-ma. 

Lincolnshire,  Ling'-con-shir. 

Lictor,  Lic'-tor. 

Lysias,  Lys'-i-us. 

Manila,  Ma-nll'-a. 

Maius,  Ma'-yus. 

Marius,  Ma'-re-us. 

Martius,  Mar'-she-us. 

Medes,  Medes'. 

Meditern..iean,  Med-e-ter-ra'-ne 

an. 

Menagerie,  Men-a-/ue'r-e. 
Montain,  Mon'  in. 
Morglay,  Mor-gla'. 
Niding,  Nid'-ing. 
Olympia,  Ol-ym'-pi-a. 
Olympiad,  O-lym'-pi-ad. 
Ormuzd, 


VOCABULARY 


24? 


Palatine,  Pal'-a-tin. 
Palmata,  Pal-ma'-ta. 
Pater  Noster,  Pa'-ter  Nos'-ter. 
Papyrus,  Pa-py'-rus. 
Paynim,  Pa'-nim. 
Pedagogue,  Ped'-a-gog. 
Penates,  Pen-a'-tes. 
Phidias,  Phid'-e-as. 
Philemon,  Phil'-e,-mon. 
Picta,  Pic'-ta. 
Pilchards,  Pil'-kards. 
Pistareen,  Pis-ta-reen'. 
Polycles,  Pol'-i-cles. 
Pormont,  Por'-mont. 
Pyrrhic,  Pyr'-ric. 
Quintain,  Qum'-tin. 
Quintilis,  Quin-iiK-is. 
Rio  Janeiro,  Re'-o  Ja-na'-ro. 
Sagum,  Sa'-goom. 
Scipio,  Sip'-i-o. 
Saracens,  vSar'-a-sens. 
i  iturnalia,  Sat-ur-naMe-a. 
Seater,  Set'-er. 
Seax,  Sex. 
Sextilis,  Sex-til'-Ts. 
Sibylline,  Sib'-yl-lme. 


Solon,  SoMon. 

Straetas,  Stre'-tas. 

Stylus,  Sty'-lys. 

Scheldt,  Shelt. 

Suez,  Su-ez'. 

Thanet,  Tha'-net. 

Thebes,  Thebes'. 

Theognis,  The-og'-irf£v 

Thorsby,  Thors'-by. 

Thratta,  Thrat'-ta. 

Tiber,  Ti'-ber. 

Toga,  T6'-ga. 

Trireme,  Tri'-reme. 

Tyr,  Toor. 

Uffen,  Oof'-fen. 

Valerius,  Va-le'-re-us. 

Venison,  Ven'-zn. 

Via  Sacra,  Ve'-a  Sa'-cra, 

Vesta,  Ves'-ta. 

Wednesday,  Wo'-dns-day. 

Wulf,  Woolf. 

Zadok,  Za'-dok. 

Zend  Avesta,  Zend  A-vest'-a 

Zeus,  Ze'-us,  Zoos. 

Zimmerman,  Zim'-mer-man. 

Zoroaster,  Zo-rS-as'-ter. 


370 


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